There's a museum

called Ministry of the Sea --


No coast anymore.

Strike a match in the dark,
Watch your childhood spark to life.
In a momentary flicker of the past
Relive the scent of bonfire nights;
Where sulphur rockets are heaven bound,
And the orange glow of fire lit faces
Come congoured from the dark of time.
But burns short the magic in that light,
It dwindles fast like youth itself,
Each memory blown away like smoke.
But for just one moment that magic shone
And in those seconds a child came home.

Tom Lefort 2024

The sun's still out my head's in the heels of my shoes
I'm surprised I can even dress myself

And though I stand here lonesome
I lift my eyes from the ground
upto those birds that spiral novel uncharted shapes in the blank sky.

Me I'm still bleeding I just don't get to bleed on you now
How lucky for us both
To look back and forgive and forget as we please  and bless sweet nothings in and out of nothingness and choose whether we could or couldn't care less
Nicotine laced condensation scratches the window too blurry to see anything but my face
Though I only see it from the outside when looking back
Jester-like like the black cat's white-outlined grin
before crying to be let in and out of the rooms as he pleases
I know you spend as you get but can't you account for anything at all?

     I'm nibbling my wrists those birds are all I've got to lick the wounds
And I can only care for them so long as they still want me to look at them

And you
You sit with so much on your mind have you really just nothing to say?

I've met you several times but we only spoke that one time, didn't we?

You just took a couple draws from my cigarette and we were both happy enough to leave it at that

If I saw you in the street I may assume the identity of my doppelganger
  I'd still like to call her over to mine someday if I were able to but that's not something I dwell on
You're just the reason I'm starving I wouldn't pay me no mind in your spot either
Sweet-thing

You aren't worthy of another promise I would've been happy if I could've only atleast had them left to keep
I'd rather crash literal breakneck speed before speaking to you again and you know that by now, don't you?

Fog falls light from small mountains it looks faint but it imposes it's presence to-be
threatening to cover our faces heavy enough to stain our clothes

It beckons those pretty birds to be among the first to rise and
be engulfed

I'm stuck to the ground sweetthing with my eyes falling back down,
My feet are heavy as stone but I can't afford to get tired waking up so late into the day.

I do remember

her bicycle from back then --


but no faces at all.

Mama told me things,

as a toddler, that I'd like --


to know from her now.