Through the fast-forward frames

That gentle-rock and carry me homewards

I see familiar – but not – evening shadows

Lying timelessly across harvest-clock fields;

Full leaf crowns of trees that served as masts,

Fuel, trusses, wheel spokes and spear shafts

Lean now on thick, dark hedges

Like off-duty, slightly drunk warders

At the sleepy near-home edges of my day.

The Madness Rations

With all the delightfully tempting deliberation

Of the sensuous midnight dance, they

Pour their whiskey’d coffee shadows

Into the urban canyon streets.

Honest-to-God light,

As though, silently screaming,

Seeking to escape upwards.

Leaves from ground level,

Now are the panther-hours,

The time of warm-chocolate promises,

Bitter honeys with secret pillows;

The secret language of  darkened doors:

The madness-rations we take

In order to plead sanity.


The Universal Coffee Bar

The cakes are sweet and

The coffee bites bitter back

Like God’s guard dogs.

Lights, reflected in smooth,

Mock-marble floors:

Pink, off-white, tetra-blue

Speak of different therapies

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The Church of Clocks

Restless are the

Seas and sands of time:

Tidespun and windworked

Lines of invested time.

Ever faster the full moon

leaps the mortal  fences.

I laugh now to think

How devoutly I avoided

Crossing the cathedral threshold

That leads to the Church of Clocks;

Ignored the insidious drip-tock-drop –

Thinking I was being somehow brave –

The doors that closed,

The ones we didn’t see.

Why did it take so long to realise

That our bodies are merely pins

Mercilessly nailing our want-away shadows

To the dry, stinking mud?



Lies the Mirror Tells

She sets the scene
Nay perfectly;
Making flowers, sunset balloons
Dragons and rainbow tides –
With perfumed smoke,
With belladonna charms
And big-word dances.

I’m smiling, wryly.
She’s looking at me,
Intrigued, wondering why.

The difference, my
Soon-to-be-robot darling,
My once and future pirate chief,
Is that I was there –
A well-mannered mushroom,
Happy in the shadows-
When what you now mock
Was the new black,
Was all the black indeed
We would ever need,
The emperor’s new wardrobe.

I knew the seeping reality,
Denied by the obsequious ravens,
by the powerful ones
Who made the rules
(Mayhap the same ones
Pulling your pretty strings
Now my dear).

But history has always
Been a tart,
Always chasing the money.