Brightonia by J.Mullinger

Where did they go, those lost Brighton nights?
When our minds were at sea and we sipped Special Brew round corners,
When we skimmed slates on stoned beaches,
and mumbled our death laments on alcoholic sofas
half spilt in the broken morning.
Where did they go, those Brighton nights?
When we seduced the world and ourselves into giddy abandonment,
When we slouched on lampposts as we spun our yarns to midnight maidens,
before we ran off home to wade through the waste accumulated
and flop into temporary paralysis.

Where did they go, those Brighton weeks,
Spent on floors with our conscience strewn throughout unknown postcodes
and our conversation 100 miles per hour,
or else caped in stupored silence.
Where did they go, those warped days of Brightonia?
When we raced the sunset dressed in nothing but our hangovers and changing youth,
When we turned heads and chased tails endlessly in damp corridors and strange houses
and everywhere in between.
When we slumped on vast slopes and sang songs in frenzy,
and spent our last pennies repeatedly on a Good Time.

Where did it go, that skewed world Brightonia?
When we fucked with our very essence,
When we fought off tomorrow and dreamt about yesterday,
When we wallowed in the purgatory that we carved hand to mouth,
When we knew that it was us till the end and we waited for nobody

but our own souls to catch up

and let us know that none of it would ever last.

Still life with Brew