February 4

30-years-ago, today, you were born, into the arms, of a stranger – now a mother, you share half your life with. You didn’t know what love was, but in months, the way she held you, meant you knew, and then in years, the way he held you, meant you knew.
It’s not the sound of sirens, it’s the silence that still haunts you. It taunts you. In bed – when the head voice won’t rest – haunted by the lack of emptiness, distressed by the the constant syntax.
You are not alone. Carry me home.


February 3

I’m too tired to wake-up, too incomplete to follow, into the bedroom, and open up.
I’m too insecure to un-change, in the privacy of my own room – too sensitive, to stand, too close to pain.
Cut-to who you want to be – you. Focus on the future; the undiscovered truth.

February 1

I’d fall, on my sword, for your love – would it be enough for us?
I’d gauge out my eyes for you, maybe then I’d see your needs?
Is this all you wanted – love-sick and undone?
Is this all you ever wanted – wanting for no-one?
My heart is heartless – will it ever change, i ask?
I’d kneel there, palms to the sky, all night.
Will the moon change how I feel, or is it useless?

January 4

When you were young, you would think how, everyone else had all wrong.
When you were young, you would think how, you had it right all along.
Well, you know, you’ve grown old now?
The time was right to realign, inside, cos you had it all wrong.
The time was right, to realign, cos they were right all along.
Well, you know, you’ve grown old now? It’s about time to act your age.
You will be the death of me. Well, you know, it’s time to go?
You used to know me.
Step inside your mind, tonight; it’s alright to be insular.
Reach around and draw the blinds, for the light is getting brighter.

January 3

Was I lost? Was there something awful? Is there a world inside every seashell?
And did it cost all that you learnt to break apart the plastic surface?
People are strange.
Was I lost? Were you always sordid? Would you question your only daughter?
And would you let her tear apart this retrospective nightmare, in reverse?
People are strange.
Was I lost, when I left my body, in the dust of the moonlit study?
And were you really working late when they rang and said they’d found me?
People are strange.
And was I lost at your fathers funeral? Drying blood stained the toilet walls.
And will I always keep a copy of the bible, by my bedside, just in case?
People are strange.
Please, open your eyes. I’m holding on.
Was I lost when you left me waiting, all alone?

January 2

As the stars align, I’m suddenly left awake, alone.
The silver light shines, off the mirror, through to my soul.
Is she coming for me, softly, or resolutely angry does she search?
Is there anything I can do to understand the dark of her return?
It’s night. I’m blind.
As the ocean breeze whispers me back to gentle sleep, there’s a distant hum of something, piercing to my dreams.

January 1

I hear the sound – it’s calling me home – it welcomes me.
Drive, through the night, my Micra rides like a dream – or is it just me dreaming really?
Slide, into sleep, my body longs to be seen – or am I really yours already?
Try, as you might, to hold me tighter so I feel – or have I worn you half away?
Lift, from the earth, the finest things that you own and wash them all away.
You’ll see I’m right.

A Distant Space

There’s a painting on my wall of an old house, a windmill and a steady sea – the sky’s the deepest grey (the deepest grey). When I’m most alone, I can see a boy, standing at the window – so afraid, so afraid. Waiting for the tide to wash the stains away. Waiting for the fish to bite the broken. Waiting for the loss to carve him open. It’s a coastal place, a distant space, a scene I can’t replace, nor would I want to; where else could I find you? The sand is stained, the air is laced; a time I can’t erase, nor would I want to – where else would I find you? When the time is right, they’ll find you.

Burning Church Beside A Lake

Through the trees, there’s a burning church beside a lake of ice – thawing with the heat. The flames lick the night – as I’m drawn closer, I start to hear a priest going down with his ship.

“Please lord, spare me. Please lord, prepare me. I’ve been a servant all my life – slept lonely every night, just to serve you – now in my hour of need, you leave me; doubting your compassion on my deathbed.”

Then he’s silent – I’m thankful he’s silent. Then the flames fade, then the night draws in. Then I kneel by the lake, and wash my hands of this mess.