The Last Mile

wise feet know their path
through threadbare carpets –
last sip of hot tea

Holding Back

I do not dream of working naked,
of sporting prowess or having super powers.
Nor do I wake from falling downwards,
from ghoulish monsters or daemonic hatred.
I wish for but one most simple pleasure;
that I might take a walk upon the sands,
bolstered by the cooling onshore breeze,
my dogs running circles against the sea.
My want is but to be as free as them,
to cross my path and speed right on,
instead of tripping in its rutted depth,
cut by dampened chain and morbid anchor.

Unsatisfied Hunger

unseen force whips last
biscuit coloured leaf away –
empty wrappers burn

Repulsing Around

I tire of this game.
Understanding the rules
most poorly puts me
out of bounds
each and every round.
So I’ve turned
it against them.

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Complex Apartments

carpet under my feet
dulls the slap of a hard world –
caveman cries below

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Charcoal Grey

My first car was a hearse.
I expect that it will also be my last.
This continuity, strangely, is comforting.
It has shaded my soul.
Charcoal Grey is
more than a colour swatch option.
So I walk.
To show I am alive, and
to lengthen the journey
between pick up points.

Evening Outlook

squirrels bury nuts –
long shadows cast a dark
cane for my hand

Real Life

Off-line is so empty.
The sound of bills
slapping on broken tile
echo emptiness over
the perpetual motion of
a single low decibel fan.
As if worried into movement
the fridge clicks,
shuddering with the.
unaccustomed effort
of cooling a slice of
yesterdays pizza.
Its unhappy motor
ejects a din that
smoothers all but
the most insane thoughts.
Outside a gunshot rings out,
its sound-wave cracks,
forcing a moment of
un-requested reality
into the room.
Unrestrained it also
wakes a tiresome dog
that exists only
physically chained
down in the street.

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Early Shift

cyan cold dawn spreads –
cows swap visible bellows
after early shifts

Amoung Pines

lofty canopy
ejects emptied needles –
dim lifeless graveyard