(Untitled)1-4th October

Buddha Heads and Pot Plants

Inhabit this space

Spot-lit stage where no performance will pass

Shadows fall

And hope rises

Grace exists in the stillness of

A Poet in the land of nobody

When the night draws down its curtain

Over this bare window

Nothing changes

The cryptic questions we never answer

But don’t stop trying to

Paralyse me now

Force my hand and shade my tomorrow

Slumps and highs

Push me to push on a red door in a quiet street

After red bus journey to you

On the way here I

Saw the old man from the bookshop

Scuttling under the streetlamps

He walked quicker once he heard my footsteps

The fear evident in his voice when he acknowledged my greeting

In the dark fledging friendships vanish

And we yearn for safe arms length anonymity



This Sunday has been atypical

I played dominoes in a bowling alley and retired on a winning streak

I cooked simple food slowly and enjoyed it alone

With the rain drumming along

And then it came back to me



We’re asking for something more but

The requested operation requires elevation

In surplus city we’re all skating

On ice that gets thinner with every passing day

Even as the temperature drops

And the rain drops

And the pound drops

And the Bass drops

And the shells drop

And the bodies drop

And the penny drops

Into the gory gutter

And the stench rises

And the smoke rises

And the high rises

And the flats rise

Into the plane streaked sky

But fall short of greatness

Cement Ceilings on the hopes of generations

Black hoods for the voiceless

Shielding them from the cold world they’re facing

On suspended walkways to nowhere

Looking for the perfect angle for the run up to the moment where their wings emerge and they hit the evening breeze in flight

Beyond the grey walls and neon bars

Further than every man with a price

Past the low horizon of this empire
There’s more
Past the low horizon of this empire
There’s more
Past the low horizon of this empire
There’s so much more