The Blood

The blood,

The hours

They spill

So quiet,

So quick.

And they

Run, run, run

Like tears

From the sun:

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Hearing Music.

Blond panther in beggar-black rain

Is pacing beautiful blue-silver

Dapple paths that stretch

From then to beyond

On velvet-whisper pads.

Unseen by even the cat,

Man, still-sitting on

Drum Back mountain stack

Watches it all unfold once again;

Hearing music in the

Tiny perfect silences,

Feeling tears drawn out

Of history’s eyes.

5/9/2013

Time, Whisky and Friends

As if overstaying

My fragile welcome

Were not enough

I had to fall

Off the wagon again;

Fall so hard I missed my

Leaving-thunder train

By a pocketful of hours.

Now I’m buying

Time, whisky and friends

In a lock-in bar, while,

Outside, in the sodium lit fog

Two hog-jockeys and

A crooked lawman

Take it out of the

Latest version of my god.

Ghost of the Big man

Blows tears through his

Angel horn, like he always did:

Truth is a pale, poor story.

21/6/2013