Tony Chapman-Art Music Writing

The cause of all things, on this grey, cold Sunday afternoon, where naked, damp tree skeletons, frozen in jagged lines, march, each side of the empty, cracked road,

waiting for the North Pole tsunami melt to change our society a little, whilst crabwise walking, and sipping tea from bone china, semi-transparent, little fingers pointing out – is the transparent tide, forever starting and stopping, on the glass shore, where trapped souls look up from below with empty eye-sockets.