I think what we do
Is something like drudgery
It's difficult to define
What takes us to our manners

But I think there is a rhythm,
Even when I know there isn't
And I think thinking makes the thing
Makes our rhythm

I think the world has its beat
And at times I get lost in it
It jumps in at times to change the stage
But even its verse breaks for my chorus

Leaving behind a depression isn't like
Raising the dead
I find it's a lot like
Waking up
To a conductor waving you in

A friend is watching me
I showed him my life last night
I made mistakes and he knows it
I may have done things he knows now

A friend can see me
And now I know what that's like
I know what others feel like
When they know all they do is being watched

A friend knows about me
And I can't decide if that's good or bad,
Whether writing this is another rope at the willow
Pulling its supple roots from the ground

A friend has found me
Dug me up from the ground
An ugly root, but one that makes
A flower bloom quite highly

A friend has shown me the sun
Something I forgot was there
I don't know if he stands me
I wouldn't like him to say

A friend has made me see myself
What a strange thing
What a strange worry
To forget your reflection

A friend has left me in my own hands
A complete little picture
Oil paint, that's the worth I know
That's the way my mind thinks these things

A friend has left me to think
What a valuable little thing
Like gold that's something stronger
Than brittle iron, fragile big steel

A friend has seen me
And now I have to live with that
Strange tides wash my feet
Coral rocks wink at me from the shore

People tell me what I am now
And I suppose that helps me think
Friends have found me on the beach
Putting out the sun again.

This is me
I am male
I am tall
I wear glasses
I have a short beard and hair that's receding slightly
I have a slight face
I am quite broad
I have poor posture
I have a rural accent
I like to laugh
I like to speak
I love to listen
I hate that word
I like your opinion
You gave me a nice drink, thank you
This is nice, isn't it?
I've travelled a bit
Where have you been to?
Ah yeah? I'm at uni too
Cool, nice to meet you.
I have poor posture
I have a slight face
I have a short beard and hair that's receding slightly
I like to smile at strangers leaving
I am tall
And that's it.

Truly blessed am I for so
Might people think of me and so
I am, walking April days on springsteps
With pockets of passion sewn about

What heather bears thine poppy seed
What bee might chance into your scent
Aligned with lights that beckon away
Swallowed poles of north or south

Tunnels gape and gnash stalactites
And eyes bear the brunt of the dark
But I feel not with sight, not where I reap real bounty
With twig and hair I feel my way

And paint what promise I need to survive

Grey whistles spoke shrilly
Of wishes never seen
As I sought a hobby that ne'er
Grovelled to'r machine
I saw those moor harpies asleep in their crow
There was a sentence lying dormant in me

Without much more than history lessons
To go forth was a hefty sentence
Making conversation pieces
Of the rocks I met along the way
And I hoped that one day I might
Be there for the rise
And fall of 10p states

To sentence them to mutiny
Silly, shrilly and ne'er hopeful
But at least not airborne, at least rooted
In hobbies gainst the machine
What a terrible lot, indeed
What a lot of terrible days

Ah, well
At the running track I feel
The sentence dormant in me
Bolt upright, turning the grey
On its head, as harpies fall
Into the earth and the stars come down for me

She lines herself before me, eyes halting her gait like a rod rid of bait
Trotting her feet again in my way, not perturbed or frightened by me

The churning distress tongues speak about us on the whiteboard each week
Is finally bringing us together, her delicate neck craned ****-eyed

Tip-toe though your feet are crashing, and all pretense of slicing your eyes at me is mashing
But I play her game and look up at the ceiling, red blouse she's got on like honey

Her body pours over, spilling a little as her foot twitches too far and she jabs my leg accidentally hard
I'm forced to look over, that cunning smile done up like hair, you

I meet her, she smiles, she apologises, I smile and nod, saying it's ok, because it is for a while
But when she glides on by I'm angry that her mistake wasn't falling into my useful lap

Like wardrums, that sound, footsteps echoing deep bass-like from the ground
And soaking my skin in flannel bravery and horror at what I can see

Her walking away from me, until next week, the dancing meek kittens
Ashamed to make mouths say what eyes can only guess at

'Hello, how are you, would you like to know my name?'
'Not really for I learnt it long ago, but tell me just the same'