soon after the dying Christmas tree
started scattering its needless
needles throughout
the house,
life
stopped -
the nagging dampness
of winter dewing the red bricks
until flakes of paint drifted onto the
floor like snow. Here, among the spider's
threads, where invisible worlds claw
at our heels, some newish sickness
was brewed into being. And we
didn't notice. Our muted
festivals weren't
enough to
mark
the subtle
changes of the
seasons outside, so
every day drifted into the
next one, like waves tumbling
onto distant sandy summer shores

spaghetti in the food bin
a love story for the worms

It is a fact
That as you get older
There are more certainties in your future
Than there were in your past

Aloneness in a fading crowd.
Waves of faces, none that see.
The blurring colours freely bleed;
A wave of choreography.

The fault line in our promises.
What once crackled, became a hum.
Entangled with angelic choirs;
The very tip of our new spectrum.

Always spinning, heading East.
Eternal coals and sourdoughs.
All that nature still abhors;
The vacuous caverns of the soul.

Ever dispersing from the tower.
Spreading further, incoherent.
On our way we greet The Beast;
A promise of eternal peace.

I can't tell these stories, any more.
Each time I tell, they spill a little,
Now all that's left seems slight
And brittle. And I can't tell these
Stories, any more. If you listen
When the rain falls on the path.
You may hear the sounds of sadness
Or of joy. That's because the raindrops,
Are the scattering of pearls, from an ocean
Far away - too far from land for seagulls
Or for me. Tell me why you want to hear
These stories once again? Do you think
That somehow, things will be the same?
With every word that's ever heard,
There's a wave of tiny atoms. And when
Those atoms shake your ear, they'll leave
You feeling lonely. And that's why I cannot
Tell these stories any more.

briskly shoved backwards
abrupt legs screeching
as they drag
across the concrete floor
away from the card table -
instinctively, the other players
pulling their hands
towards their chests
to shield the curious faces
of jacks, queens and kings
like infants in a papoose

confronted by an old friend
who turns up unannounced
you lay your life out piece by piece
they weigh it ounce by ounce

and when you find the sum of parts
is lesser than the whole
they'll ask you what went missing
from the bottom of your soul

nothing dried up by the sun
or left out in the rain
just a sense of emptiness
you couldn't call it pain

that's the hole your filling
with all your new false friends
the ones that drink your spirits
and leave you their dog ends

so come embrace your failings
don't hide them out of sight
without our incompleteness
we've no way to unite