Away? Too Long?

Winter sun:

Remote and angry red,

Boiling its furious route

Through cochineal curdled clouds

Towards the crumbling coping

Of a wall I built

To keep the world at bay.

Didn’t work;

I’m still stumbling along paths

Scratched by anonymous others

Across ghost maps of

Another place I’ll never belong.

Tryin’

Tryin’ to get some slack,

Free my brain,

Make livin’ jus’

A little less rough:

No easy task, trus’ me now,

On labour’s Boredom Road.

On my way home from

The needle factory;

Prospects gone like

Mice in a cat’s home.

Eased back, took a drag.

Watched the clouds doin’

Their eternal calc’lation dances:

Mapping the atmosphere, assessing

The differences, shiftin’ shapes,

Tradin’ energies, motherin’

The winds, sketchin’ the seasons,

Stretchin’ time.

 

Murder’s Professor

Fierce-proud crow-piper am I

On Prospero’s good-wind, miller days,

Born of winter raven-burn,

Murder’s elegant professor,

Confessor to fictions.

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