You've got yourself a cold one from the fridge when I call.
It's April again and the clocks changed again
didn't they and I haven't heard from them
in months now. I think they're all caught up
in their own personal knots or weeds as the time’s gone, going,
that hour away to the clouds. Those I knew I wouldn't know
now in Marks and Spencer, the multi-storey. Any memories
like puddles, warped. They, too, going to the clouds. It's lighter
in the evenings but much is the same; the chickens
with their sore throats, cheers from a distant football pitch. Something
is different though. Indefinable. Condensation on a window.
I agree, you say, as I hear your wife's muffled
voice in the background.

What mystery magician presents
such liquid night? The town asleep,
cerulean bathed. Colour confluence
to make hieroglyph of sky, white
whirligigs with buttery pulses,
spirits in hurried conversation swim
through reeds of cobalt, past tall
cypress flame, black cloaked nuisance. This
and banana moon, cocked grin
awake but silent as dreams of people
drift like sapphire ribbons.

I'm a little bit here
and a little bit there,
my eyes, they dart,
my lips, they part,
and on and on
go the thoughts
during our chat,
this way and that,
here and now gone,
humming a song
while writing a line,
while drawing a face,
while lost in space.

I pet my cat,
I feel her fur,
I hear her purr,
I'm a little bit here
and a little bit there,
I'm in my chair,
then up then down,
smile and frown,
remember a thing
and forget the present,
scatter, find,
lose my mind,
leave the room
to fetch a broom,
see something else
on the shelf,
examine, pass,
step in the glass.

leave again,
find my pen,
write a note,
forget the quote,
look it up,
follow the thread,
realize I'm
still in my bed,
my foot is bleeding,
there's glass on the floor,
someone at the door,
could I have done more
to do a little less--
to clean the mess,
and write the note
and save the pen
and find the quote?

Going for unknown.
Living for pleasure.
Finding none.
Moving in the path of others,
Reckless disregard.
Unnamed and alone.
Hoping someone will stop
Offer normal as a way.
Taking the next hit
Until the day is dark.
Unloved and scrapped.

you give me nostalgia, baby
I've got butterflies, it's crazy
you are rose colored glasses personified
you are all the romance I have glorified
and sometimes vilified..
after too many faults of past lovers confused my psyche
too many faults of my past loving mocking me... internally...
while externally, you've got me tongue tied and dizzy
I'm falling into a daze from your vibrato
while you strum your guitar and sing in the echo
I just want to stare at your aura
dive right in and start exploring...
got me feeling sensations I haven't felt for so long
vulnerability usually makes me feel weak,
but it's hard to feel anything but stronger
lately
I wanna spend time with you longer
you give me nostalgia, baby
for memories we haven't even made,
it's crazy