Sunday, 13 July 2014


It's freezing inside, but is that just my mind?
These words like the sleight of hand
Of some trickster on a side street.
I could be blind, even with eyes open
To not see it is my own feet I fall over.
There's a man outside, beneath the amber light
His face hidden in a pall of dark.
Furiously shaking his head at the voices inside
And biting the cigarette pressed to his lips.

Each finger of wind through the leaves of the trees
A soft sigh, wordless, yet tinged thick with remorse.
Somewhere, a train grinds through the night
A long haul far away, far from my sight
Like the pale moon shrouded in cloud
And the street curtained in fog.

In my dreams
I run through a narrow tunnel, endless
Running... from what?
There is nothing behind me, but there is
And it gets closer.

This world is not real, but is more real
Than that I live in when I am awake
Even when the air is treacle
And each breath is a gasp.

Ah, but... ah!

There will be no rest this night.
Red rimmed, my eyes
In the coming dawn.