I was bound and gagged by my dignity
My virtue struggles to hold my voice hostage
I practice restraint but my bonds have slipped
And while I wait for the feeling to return to my hands
I bounce the ball in my solitary confinement
My silence screams so loud in my ears,
can you not hear it?

"I am coming for you!"

Why don't the weather presenters just say it like it is?

Why do they say 'Oh a high of 34 it's going to be a glorious day'...

When really that is a completely ridiculous temperature,
Its boiling and I know my head is going to melt just getting to the bus stop. I'm going to have a face like a baboons **** by the end of the day... but no... it's glorious. ******* is it...

Watch out for those icy roads...

No... but thank you for your concern. I however will be doing my best Bambi on **** roller skates impersonation because the roads are gritted but the pavements are like ******* sheet ice. I might need a replacement hip joint by the end of the day.

There could be an accumulation of snow overnight...

Well if an accumulation means three flakes and the town grinding to a halt, I'm moving to a ******* Alaska. At least I could get to work on time. Even commuting from there would be quicker than my bus driver detouring around three ******* flakes, one of which looks suspiciously like a bit of lint.

Why don't they tell the truth?

Why don't they say okay, it's going to be ******* freezing, I wouldn't bother. Phone in work and say your dog is sick, make something up because you are going to regret every **** step you take to work.

Or... it's going to be a snow day,

The schools will be shut so your shop is going to be rammed with rosy cheeked, sniveling kids with their chubby fingers in your pick and mix all day. Kids in the street are going to be complete **** holes and pelt you with snow because their aim is crap and they should be inside in the warm on their computers...

or Mate... its ******' it down...

You might want to build an ark at some point. Your dog won't even go out in it, it will sit whining it's miserable snout off at the door all ******* day because it wont use a litter tray...

But your cat will be happy... smug little ****.

Life is not all rainbows and butterflies.
Just ask the ones that lie inside,
Lifeless and dull.
Fluttering their wings inside my skull,
Torturing me until I have died.
Life is not all rainbows and butterflies.

Startled by the crack they launch,
spread wings and soar
through rising summer breeze

Perfect black symmetry
wingtip to wingtip
recalling the first flight of courtship
seven years before

Circle the ripening corn
living the wind
feeling the sky
tilt, turn, circle again

Black eyes cast below
they see a figure,
watching, waiting
rifle lowered, patient

And she begins to falter
to mistrust the surging sky
her element, suddenly unmastered

He is oblivious, effortless.
Spiralling, alighting,
he turns his curious gaze
to seek his mate

And finds only empty blue
where she should be.

Behind one door of course
is a giant room, indistinct
colours coming into focus
shapes forming meaning
patterns establishing
coalescent understanding
huge, oh huge!

Another door reveals
hard edges, firmer lines
things to lift and move
a catalogue of voices
swaying rows of figures
regulated, rigorous

Now a third door
opens on a shared space
merging pictures
hybrid hopes
budding, blooming
memories of the first door
memories of the second door.

Many more passed
and one more opened
on a tiny room
senses shrivelled
fog and white noise
an anteroom, a cell
grim and hopeless, sure

But always, the corridor.