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If all these seas were beached,
If all I saw was lost, If all windy sails reached, Who will harbour the cost?
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Sleeping cold grey hills, rumbling stomach
Release the rain, Open wound a manner of spite, Drooping eyes, dripping sky. Mounting darkness leaves the ground, Littered shadows to Closing trees, scrabble for shelter These games, these games, pen and paper. I tire looking for land Upon which to stand, Make my bread, duvet cover, Inner. The silence grows, Bleats and squawks as ears listen. Trembling heart, eyelids close Forget the thought, It was never yours. The third person says to self: Observe the first, just Keep your eyes on her, don’t look away Keep you eyes on her Rising. From the carbon We’re all made. At the end The day is dim, Dimming dimmer As mist becomes vaguer. And dreams dream of themselves Traps spring From set-pieces. I am finished. I. The lost, forgotten beach Lies still and unseen, Driftwood and footprints Living memories undreamed. II. Stoned is the heathen heart A mounting terror of placated parts; Perched on islands Dribbling memories, A mandated scar. Flail about with our hearts, Ignore the arts, We make our way regardless. Our love digs deep For more than cash in the purse, Your way to disperse Greed as an unbudding seed. We may look forward We may look back, The historian knows our call The musician hears it all; The tracks are set Paths our feet pet, We’ll remember the words You’ll long regret and wish to forget.
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