You could let
A lot of things
Bother you 
If you wanted to
The daylight 
Breaking your sleep
The darkness 
Of cold mornings
The noise 
Of life 
Dragging you
Along
Passing you by
Taking you in
And 
Under
The people
Asking too much
Or too little
The gaps 
Where things ought
To be
But aren't 
The traffic and 
The travel
When 
Everything 
Should 
Stand still 
The freeze an...

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List
Words
In 
A
Line
Things 
To do
To not
Forget 
Or at least
To put
Our minds
In some 
Kind 
Of order
Though
For what 
I'm not
Quite
Sure
Regulation
Sense
To stop
Us falling
Off 
This planet
We love
Our lists
Maybe
They help
Us
Make sense
Of 
This 
Nonsense
Maybe 
They provide
Order
And control
Because 
It seems
Above 
All else
That's what
We need

W...

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She sat down 
At her writer's desk
With her box of
Letters
And her pallet of 
words 
And as she painted
She tried to glue
sentences 
Together 
To make some sense
Of the world 
Which reflected 
Before her
In the paper thin mirror
Which was both
Her life and
Her life's 
Work
The jumbled paragraphs 
tumbled 
On to the canvass
Acrobats of her mind
Spilling ideas of 
What was
A...

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I knew a man 

Once 

He wasn’t a

Big man 

In the grand scheme 

Of things 

But he filled up

My whole

World 

In the week 

I don’t suppose 

I saw him

Too often 

He left 

When it was dark

He came home 

When 

It was dark

But my world 

Was anything 

But 

Dark 

And I didn’t

Make the link

Back then

Or even 

Until n...

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They say 

They say 

You can tell 

A lot 

About a person 

By the shoes 

They wear 

And maybe you 

Can 

Or maybe that’s

Just what we 

Like to call

Poetic license 

Something to do 

With good old Atticus 

And his moccasins

But lately 

I’ve come to thinking 

You can tell 

A lot about 

A person 

By the glasses 

They wear

Shou...

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Today

A man said to me

You might be

Surprised 

At how I look 

(I wasn’t)

You might think 

I’m

Built

For different 

Things

(I didn’t) 

You might think 

My way 

Is not the way

That it is 

(I wouldn’t)

Yet he seemed 

Happy

In his own 

Dressed up 

Way 

With his hair clip 

In place

And his bandana 

Threatening 

To hide

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Why does this 

Life 

Evolve 

And revolve 

Around minutes 

Dripping and squeezing 

And ticking and tockimg 

And oozing 

The very life 

And soul 

Of the party 

Which seems 

To offer so much 

And show 

So little 

I mean 

Take Sunday night 

For example 

I long for that 

Machine of your 

Dreams 

With peddles and paddles

And 

Cogs

A...

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Listen to 

Your prophets 

However they may 

Fall

Listen to the 

Breeze

Which blow inside the tower

That is 

Your mind 

Listen to the rain 

The wind 

The snow 

The mountains 

And the trees 

And if you can’t 

Listen 

At least 

Stop talking 

For a moment 

The sea is the sea

The sky is the sky 

And somewhere 

You can float

Between

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Shooting Angels

Most of us

We try

To scratch out

A living

With our broken bics

Blood and ink

Dripping meanly 

In a vague attempt 

To trace the idea 

Of a future

From somewhere 

Deep inside

And paint it 

Against the world

With its cruel way 

Of crumbling dreams 

Just before 

We reach them

Or wake up 

Or both

And we struggle so

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We all live

Within a dream

Of ourselves 

Our inner mirror 

Reflecting 

Very differently 

To its weaker counterpart

The one 

Made of glass

Our inner wardrobe 

Very different to the one

We we wear for real

Our inner voice 

Almost unrecognisable 

To that poor 

Imposter 

We hear when 

It plays 

Back to us

On whatever 

Modern technology 

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Some kind of madman

Over the mountain 

Shakes his maracas 

Beats his drum 

Wiggles 

And sniggers 

For he knows the 

Secrets 

Knows the delights 

And the dangers 

And the tightrope

Cares not an instant

Or if he does 

Wouldn’t show it 

So he crashes and thrashes

And breaks those below him 

Beneath him 

Around him 

Smashes their canoe

Causes wa...

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There is no 

answer 

There are no 

Questions 

You walk

And watch them 

Walk

You talk

And you see their 

Mouths 

Moving 

Hear their lips

Flap

But understand 

Not a word they

Say

Though the sounds 

Are familiar 

The sincerity 

Is heart felt as 

Long as you 

Don’t care

Enough 

To feel the

Heat

I don’t know

What I’m 

Tryi...

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We are all lost and forgotten
somewhere 
We all crumble and break in 
Even and yet
Disproportionate ways
We mainly 
Set out to 
Tread wisely 
With shaky steps 
And we all want a
Bit of privacy 
As long as it’s hidden 
By noise 
Until it’s so 
Noisy and 
It’s time to complain 
Short steps 
With long legs 
Are rarely 
Allowed 
And we’re all 
Shouting at the mirror
Expecting it ...

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So a man walks into a bar. But there is no bar. He orders a drink from an absent bar man and stares at the tiles where a toilet used to be. He thinks, 'I drink. I piss. I am.'

And he stares at his empty glass and at the porcelain. There is nowhere to go and nothing to see so he closes his eyes.

He thinks, that maybe prayer would be a thing he could do now. But he has no religion or faith or ...

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There is nothing to 

Cry about 

Anymore 

He’s gone 

He’s done 

And spent 

And all the old pictures 

And all the old words 

Which stampede through my mind 

Like a rambling herd 

Are mud and dust 

And spent 

And yes

We caught you 

On our phones

So you live and breathe

In monochrome 

And maybe it was suggested 

That’s easier 

Than a black ...

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Although it is not
Up to you
Which thoughts
Appear in your head
You are in
Control
Of what you do
With them
How you shape them
And how you allow
Them to shape
You
Is in your hands 
Alone
For we are all malleable
And although
This makes us 
Vulnerable
It is only the 
Plasticine people
Who melt
In the glare
Of the
Dying sun

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I have to get ready 

to put a man 

in a box and 

maybe we were made 

for boxes

and maybe 

we weren’t 

And maybe 

my shoulders 

were made for lifting 

and maybe they weren’t 

But either way

There’s a hole 

in the ground 

and 

A god in the gutter 

And somebody 

Once 

Was looking 

At stars 

But 

Tonight 

Well 

Maybe 

It wasn’t 

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Some people
Tend to do
A lot 
Of loud 
Unnecessary
Walking
I don't know
If it's the clomp
Of their shoes
The pomp of their
self importance
Or the constant
Hurry and rush
Of getting 
Nowhere 
Quickly
I hear them
Stamp stamp stamp
Up
And 
Stamp stamp stamp
Down
All day long
And I wonder
What it says
About
The state of
The insides of 
Their heads
And their pent up
Un-spe...

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