Come down to this,

implosions are no big deal.

Money crashed, love just splinters.

Winter whines fixated on its predictable mire.


So no poems about depression,

others suffer more.

I wear my roof & a smug brickwork scarf.

The headache is just a mind trying to escape…

my friend’s TV drank until it barfed

then tidied itself up with a toy machete.

I find nothing has changed, just

cave puzzles, leftover fingers.


Legend fell into the sink,

my last laugh was 2010.

Shoes are ready, but abandoned.

Left has even lost the right

& laces are removed for their own safety.

Music volunteered to work abroad &

hasn’t been in touch.

Tried writing. Each sentence was a sentence

commas didn’t fall

they jumped.


Powdered cheese, all a body can eat.

The floor keeps changing & can’t get comfortable

I’m this ageing dry clay guy

whose skull was once such a suitcase

that feet couldn’t outpace.


Everything is born from darkness, abandoned tickets

to Wedding World, the Convenience Colloquium.

There was nothing promised but noise & now

like all paper

it too aspires to be tinder.


I may talk to myself

but that murmur is still of the ocean.

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