Song For A Sweetheart
again being played to the one
without a counterpart,
unholy chasms forming in the shapes
of stomachs and lungs and
a gap for where the heart should be,
taken like every lost jigsaw piece
to the hand of a child, one not
yet realising they’ll have to be with someone
in the 20 years or so.
To wait would be to trust the timetable
that is pinned to every figment board
in this town,
printed in red and finished with crosses
on the bottom, shame they’re written by
the hand of her, for her sweetheart counterpart, not for this boy
from somewhere people only pass through,
not care about.
I’m with you Clayton West, a ring road
to the main show out of town.

How do I break you like a bad habit
Flesh addicted.
Future/present
Tense conflicted.
Past predicted
the future depicted.

You said you were drafted
and I
misunderstood.
For a fleeting second I almost thought
that I could pull you out of my drafts, polish you, and publish you.

Little blue, little blue.
Picked up in the night.
3am may be black but

8 is sure bright.

I build bridges
I don't burn them.

And with every bridge I turn to
I look for the white paint lines of
"I Love Sarah Murphy."
Because I find that bridge
is the only road home

solemn day out at sea
when even words
won't talk to me.