Why suffer,
you,
the enabler
of chronic remorse

Since when
was it logical
to get clean
by rolling
in muck.

Suddenly
a wave of responsibility
has come crashing
to my feet

The slow throbbing
of the ebbing task
irritates my toes

As I attempt
to shirk it off
this incessant ebb
always following
making it difficult
to walk

There's nothing worse
than a clammy sole.

I dreamt
I was beside
you

We were
on the coast
of Lantana

You got up
dressed
and looked

The ocean
was grey
and calm

The waves
ebbing
slowly

Your stomach
was flat
and shimmered

then
you walked
away

I sat
motionless
and gazed

Visions assault
but my eyelids
were closed

A boat
on the
horizon

A wall
being built
behind me

An old lover
stared at me
from the stars

An impassable
cloud lingered
in my head



Clarity
shone through
the rain

I got up
turned
shocked




The wall
was higher
than me

You were
gone, but
I hear you

I walked
into the sea
arms crossed

A cool breeze
struck me
on the face

My feet hit
the ocean
and curled

It was warm
and turned
into blue

I continued
until I
was submerged

Empty bottles
a sodden reminder
of how my thoughts
drain as quickly
as these ten beers

Smoke lines the wall
like preying snakes
and the pungency
attacks the nose
and every intake
laden my lungs

The ashtray fills
the packet lightens
coke stains the glass
with residues of ***
and my digestive track
looks much the same.

Tracksuits and Nike
a pub filled with the lost
**** wet skies
and punctual misery
fill every seat
of the bus that was late.

Cigarette butts
and blood stains
line the outskirts
of every sordid town
hidden in plain sight
of feigned ignorance.

The old are begotten
with fears of their death
and how they took part
in preserving a culture
of barbaric vices and pleasures.

Ambition shot down
and petty dreams
spat on
by Oxford and Cambridge
who wallow in their pride
of a reputation held
in the 1800's
and duly lost
in the face of the East.

They skate
through the streets
in the midst
of dawn
caring for no-one
but each other
and their
forbidden love

One a refugee
the other
a used up tyre

What they have
in common
is their
delinquency

The wheels tear
and shred
the pavement
marking their time
and their place
where all others
had failed
to even recognise
or for that matter
acknowledge

And they wheel off
and the sun rises
and nobody knew
that they were even
there.

The smoke lingers
up by the ceiling
changing colours
green, yellow, and red

I'm lost in it's sway
it almost reminds me
of birds in flight
or leaves in a zephyr

But then I remember
that all these thoughts
are just ***** and awful
poetic images.