Empty-streeted footsteps ache
A lonely echo from behind
Itching suspicious notions
Finger nails and splinters
Screeching cracked sopranos
Not quite, not quite reaching
A beat and half a beat too late

Kissing cold, kissing cold and naked
Space in blackness consumed
Awareness of the endless fall
Just below, just below your clasping toes
Listen with a stretching ear
And something coiled inside
As seconds drip slowly into eons
Smile like a wolf and carry on

                                                   By Phil Roberts