Sarasota Beach.
You’d been to this place
Before, long before



You’d met Earl or his
Sour sister Pearl
Or her friend Mrs



Gillespie for this
Picnic on this stretch
Of sand. When was that



Now? A girl then. And
Not picnicking. Who
Was it with back then?



The Milton boy? Yes.
Him with the dark hair
And big blue eyes. You’d



Walked this beach hand in
Hand thinking it love,
Thinking you’d found the



Core to your being.
Didn’t of course. It
Hadn’t got too far.



You kissed, held hands, spoke
Words, laughed, caressed, but
Nothing more. Least ways



You didn’t want to,
Not then, not with him,
Just like that. You stare



Out at the sea now.
Earl says, what are you
Gazing at? Ain’t you



Seen the sea before?
Pearl sits quiet, deep
In thought. Maybe she



Had an adventure
Of love here, who knows.
Mrs Gillespie



Eats away and speaks
Small talk between large
Mouthfuls. You recall



The Milton boy for
His ardent attempt
At going further,



Trying to venture
Beneath your dress back
Then. Smacked his hand of



Course. He stopped, withdrew
His hand, frustrated
And sulked. Never got



His way though.  He boiled
Up inside, you guess.
Went with that Kelly



Girl not long after,
Maybe she gave way,
You don’t know. Smiled a



Far bit after that,
The Milton boy, her
On his arm, looking



At you with that look
Of his. You look back
At Earl and watch him



Eat, holding a dull
Conversation with
Mrs Gillespie



Between bites. The sea
And wind seem the same,
The gulls, the smell of



Sea and salt and a
Long lost age. Aren’t you
Going to eat? Earl



Says. Plenty here, he
Mutters. Pearl stares at
The sea. Maybe she



Had a lover once,
But lost it all, you
Muse, just like me.

They call me a workless guy
What they mean is worthless
Envious they’re and that’s why
Don’t like my leisurely pace!

I ain’t the one to run the race
Make do with my small needs
I hate to wear a worried face
Bear a mind where darkness breeds!

I don’t wanna run a race
Where the end ever recedes
Hate to be for the time pressed
Yet finding needs increased!

I give a **** taking it too hard
Love to run my time as own
Penning a poem feeding a bird
Watering dreams homegrown!

Forsaken: crestfallen, and he's been
Vacant, but bestirring himself now to
Once more go out on a limb to seek,
If haply he could a new find pronto,

A girl who'd like a medicine his heart
Mend and fill, with her rib, the space
In his side with her perfectly cast love,
Fitting unto him for the rest of his days.

Yiska sat by the window
of the locked ward
looking out
at the dawn light
coming through
the trees of the wood

behind her snores
from the sleepers
coughs
words spoken out
in dreams

she looked back
into the ward
and semi dark
lights from the night nurse's office
smeared into
the locked ward's
space

she looked back
into the wood
and the light of dawn
breaking through
the trees
like an army of ghosts

out there he was
he who ditched her
at the altar
she and her
upside down day
wedding that wasn't
bride who near died
can't live
without him
she'd said
wish I was dead

the light spread
through the trees
******* branches

you're not going to
until after the wedding
she'd said
they never did

maybe that was it?
she asked
the coming light
pushing aside night
because I’d not do it
before the day?
wouldn't let him
have his way?
she said

a voice muttered
behind her
words muffled
by snores

out there
somewhere
he's there
he who betrayed
(he hasn't turned up
I’m afraid)
the best man's words
let lose
like angry birds
flapping
about her head

I want to be dead
she had cried
and almost died
(handful of pills
all sorts
colours
types
strengths)

the light was spreading
through wood
burn it all
nothing now
(she said
recalling Auden)
can come
to any good.

I know my job.

it isn't on the assembly line.

there is no recipe for what I do.

no program, hints and dashes
of this and that,
no progenitors,
all orphans, but with a tradition.

write to
elevate and levitate.

****** hard.

talking supernatural,
no adagios with strings,
to lift you up mechanically,
talking real magic,
no music, no tricks.

the banque of words busted.
deposits, sure, why not, yes,
withdrawals, no,
you are on your own.

no drawing down of previous product,
if you write anew,
you write to renew,
the reader's acquaintance
with delight.

magic potions used up,
magic words all forgot.

but before I write,
before I bid au revoir,
de vous,
jusqu'à ce que nous nous reverrons,
of you, until we meet again,
gift you a poem salutation,
I asked myself this?

tho not flawless,
for when will that ever be,
has it met its primary purpose,

to elevate and levitate

the passerby, the stranger,
the guest in your hostel,
for but a nightly minute?

then all well and good,
and this rest-less passage,
a voyage well spent.


5:44am