Not til the third
maybe fourth
deep sip
of sweet tea
does my body
begin to cushion
the boneknocking
rhythm of
the drumming
that has rolled
it's welcome
like carpet
over the dark hours
and the Wessex plains;
my face is one
of sleepless thousands
turned east
waiting
the return
of a warm
hearted friend
for the longest of days,
I stand in
fields of good wishes
and the impossible
blue giants
of Preseli feeling
wet grass
between my toes
remembering
another June day
breaking
in a place
not so very far
from here
where the drumming
was the beating
of club
against flesh
and the wetness
at our feet
was dripping and brutal,
I see others
that share
the taste
of undiluted bitterness
and still others
watching strangely
the strange folk
old enough
to know (better?)
than to curse
the footfall
of each passing
police issue
boot; some wounds
time heals
in it's own time
and though
we grow older
I would be glad
now if time
hurried a little;
a gentle breeze
smooths the fields
softly dropping
fine mist
over my ghosts
that thickens
like dark cloth
on the eastern hills,
collectively we stare
at the distance
willing a tear
through it while
up above our
heads there is
a pink sky calling
for the red sun rising
and we are here,
as we always
are, to remember
our tales and bear
witness.

''click-ety-clack
don't look back
click-ety-clack
don't look
don't
don't
don't''
the chanting carriages
stutter through the
blue knots of steel-
house-lane junction
trying to remember
their lines before
we vanish
down tunnels
stuffed with depth
thick enough to
touch; I unwind,
unravel, shuffle past
Mr Allsmiles
stretch my bones
and muscles back
into a less shocking
relationship and
rock toward the
corridor filled
with cold echo
spilling through the
open windows
like a cave
breathing out; damp
walls swing close
and away again
black with soot,
and other dark
things inches from
my outstretched
hand, if I bellow
through this window
...........
if I bellow
through this window
at that passing
wall of alcoves
my voice will become
another echo
in its history
shrinking like
a farewell
wave; ten minutes
behind Staffordshire
Mr Allsmiles
declared his love
for travel
to be borne
of desire for
new places
new faces,
I explained I
travel to leave
both behind.
'Even mine ?' he
joked
'Even yours' I
replied.
'You find pleasure
in arrival and
I in departure
don't....
take it to heart''
but he did
and he left
and he saved me
the trouble.
Outside is
a big dawn
in a pink and
an orange sky,
we are tearing
a scar through
it's birth
at one hundred and
ten miles an hour
toxic (per)fumes
invade my lungs
tears slide sideways
into my ears,
when it rains
I will wear
pits in my skin
like a pebbledashed
wall I am fifteen
years old,
at this speed
I can barely breathe
but i am flying
faster than
my fear of
a normal life and
...it     ...can't      ...catch        ...me

Somebody painted
a face
on my time
and pretending
that it
was a game,
they numbered
my days
and stood them
in line
and made
every one
look the same.

Somebody gave it
two hands
and a voice
that isn't
allowed
to stop,
it can tell
if Im late
and Im learning
to hate
the sound of
their
tick tocking
clock.