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He's driving a two-litre
and going fast
because he's desperate to meet her,

she will not be there
because
she doesn't care for him.
In
that space
between old age and death.

I am
not here or there
but liminal
yet always where
the sun shines.
I have witnessed unsolicited exposures
And revisited old faults without closure –
This painted ceiling, slowly stripping off its finishing
To bare its defects, begets nostalgia over

How your name is still a byword for frustration,
Shelved within my innermost synapses;
Like a dog-eared page in an Asian
**** magazine, sound & stiff as an equation.
Wouldn't it be nice to go paddling in the sea
like we used to do when we were four,
( thought it was three, but no, it was four )

My memory like a magician, plays tricks on me
but
wouldn't it be nice to go paddling in the sea.
This mindless ***** just caught his toe on
the corner of the table.

I need my eyes adjusting so I bought some
bi-focals
which turned out to be straight focals.

Oh it's a joke
I said to the bloke
who got offended by that.
no offence intended
These are troubling times,
but when haven't they been?
war
conflict
the flesh being picked
from our bones

not much hope
when we are left to rot
when
those who have got
refuse to give

whatever happened to
live and let live?
Led to the meadow  
She lays me beside the hedgerow
I hope She knows what She's doing,
Aha
the kettle's boiling, She shouts

I wake
and that's always the way.
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