The thing about poetry,
Is I don't know if the ink
Will be my medicine,
Or if it's the poison
Inside my veins that
Will slowly destroy me.

Town hall bells ring
Vibrating my skin awake,
Birds whistle my ears into
The new harmonic day,
Grass-cutters chop my dreams
Short.

My dog licks my tired eyes open
Soaking them with love,
Fresh coffee tingles my senses
As caffeine runs through my veins,
Counting grains of sugar instead of
Counting my parking allowance.

Despite my lack of sleep,
Baggy eyes and aching bones,
I still miss my Sunday mornings
When even what seems like mayhem,
Is sweet tranquility.

If only we were
Dogs, unconditionally
Loving without thought.

The world would form a
Bond, that would be unable
to perish or break.

You are the brightest
Star in this galaxy of
Lost, faded wishes.

Don't leave yet, my bones
Already miss you like they
Lack in calcium.

In moments of dark
Hope kisses my cheek to say
"It will be okay"

We are performers
And we cut all our feelings,
From the second take.