This year I learned that beaches and oceans will always make you smile,
                                                     No matter the pains of being pure at heart

Normal is just a setting on the dryer.

There’s only so close to the edge you can stand until you fall off.
There’s only so much you can conceal with a smoke, a shrug, and a cough.

But if there's a god, he sure loves a trier.

The chimneys sighed;
A silent suicide

Nearby cemetery - familiar
To villagers
Enslaved to the wage
Engraved to the plague

Green, green grass of home
Rolling Downs goes on and on
Behind the place, I call home.

Home knows nothing
Rotting 4th July bunting
Is so grostesque
A papermill not that picturesque

Distant ships
Dockyard mist
Churchyard steeples
Choir of the working people
Amongst tenements, needles
Clocking their hours
Drinking their giro

A class of our own
A class we were born

For a future by the clocktower.

I used to watch the silver rain fall
On Sundays whilst listening to The National.
My breath would form fogged circles,
On cold windows, arching over a suburban view.

I watch your eyes move
Make plans behind ice irises
And beautiful though the April sun is
It scratches in dry heat

My tentative plans forming
Concrete ambition
My dreams melt into one
Mind ticking rapidly
In midday sun

So I don't really know where I'll be
                                       This time next year...