Moths

Moths and flames,

Owl’s night games:

Miles away on

Middle sea nights,

Bottle of water,

Bottle of lights;

Salt-summer wind bears

Scraps of sailor songs

To the ears of

The beach farmer’s wife.

 

15/7/2012

The Ticking of Clocks.

I hear the ticking

Of all the clocks,

Begin the unpicking

Of all the locks;

There’s a net

Between us, she’s

So fantasy-glamourous –

But so hard-eyed,

Unattainable, yet she’s

Always there for me.

Sometimes I half believe

There’s a face at my window

Looking in, and

I’m looking at me

twenty years down the road:

Wanting to drink

Every book between

Now and Hell.

I was high and free,

Life unutterably smooth

…

 Then it wasn’t.

9/7/2012