Part of the black magic
is broken.
Words
which flew free as starlings
are now tethered
to faces
and I can picture you writing,
redrafting,
chewing your pencils.
People;
just people.

Crisp clear light of a not-quite spring
picks out the round black bin
quietly digesting the stuff of yesterday
Discreetly concealing
the thrumming, busy business of decay

The next act is approaching
in which we find
that nothing is lost or wasted
and the audience sighs with relief

Hoping
that the mulch
of lost loves, discarded wishes
and broken beliefs
will prove as fertile
as the rich brown muck within
the round black bin.

"I believed I was right," he says,
then leaves.
Not escorted by guards -
no cuffs in sight.  Free
to make his next after-dinner speech
and pick up the fee.

Some may complain, protest
that this dog, unsleeping, may not lie
but others think "He did what he thought best,
"God knows, there's too little faith these days!"

Say it was politic.
Say it was a compromise,
the lesser evil.
Say even that it was unwise.
Admit that one man
cannot feel so many deaths
and so should not try.

But do not fly like a flag
a security of faith,
a surety of right
that ***** a nation
condemning
countless
howling
thousands
to a voiceless end.

If you still cannot see
that you might have been wrong
then you are unfit
to call yourself
human.

Every day
I'd see them headin aff
in that clapped oot old banger.
He'd nivver get it looked at -
thocht it'd run
on positive energy and a kind word.
If that were true
my fower year apprenticeship
and six year in the garage
wouldny be worth ocht, would it?
But would he come tae me?
He would not.

There they'd go -
the exhaust gruntin lik a vexed rhinoceros
an the fan-belt scraichin lik a banshee.
Ah couldae sorted that in unner an hour.

Ah seen him workin on it wance, mind -
thocht he wis fin'ly gonny change thae bald tyres
But naw,
he wis paintin' ****** flooers on the bonnet!

Ah kin see them yet.
Headin up the hill,
weans in the back,
cloods ae black smoke pechin oot the pipe.
Ah couldae fixed it.
Ah couldae telt them.
But ah didnae.

An they nivver made it hame.

After the fifty-seven-trillionth year
of my damnation,
I couldn't even remember
what had been so great
about my neighbour's ox.

High in the mountains the sunlight is hitting the snow
stillness turns to sound
White becomes crystal as water's beginning to flow, man, flow
seeking level ground
There stands a man with a hand to his ears
He is trying to learn from the water he hears
And he's watching it flow, he is wanting to know
what it means to him, but
Maybe this time a song about a river
is just about a river,
would that be so strange?
Water runs deep but it also runs shallow
and I dig the shallows today

Racing through highlands as if no tomorrow will come
time goes for a ride
The more that it carries the slower the water will run and run
flowing deep and wide
There stands a woman who can't get across
She is sad at the thought of the speed it has lost
And her hearts starts to stir, there is meaning for her
She is sure there is, but
Maybe this time a song about a river
is just about a river, would that be so strange?
Water runs deep but it also runs shallow
And I dig the shallows today

And you are a symbol, my love
You symbolise yourself to me
The stars are like the stars above
and the ocean's like the sea
I only want surfaces
let me believe my eyes

Finally losing identity, reaching the shore
watch what happens then
Water evaporates, flies to the mountains to pour and pour
all begin again.