yo yo

life cold tired


frozen wastes

lazy smiles

barefoot miles

quilt-covered glaze

paying rent

like treacle days

in the middle of a time

that wasn’t mine

in a place

I cared less to find

and there

you left me

in a cell

where time strummed its fearful chord

and oh,

the emptiness of it all



back seats

where boys play, ya know

down by the ocean

in rubber, plastic vibes

under high, black colonnades

where mysteries are written

where they fall in love

and then into a movie

or a peep-show

to live a life under-exposed,

forever bleached and dull,

and that’s how it is.

so immortality has it’s draw backs, right?

meaningless, they said

those generations of the sun,

that once rose north and set in the south,

but as streams weary,

and though tired of seeing,

still they flow,

to fill our eyes and ears,

w/ the colour of the fulfilled,

but still we chase,

we twist,

sometimes in folly,

for wisdom,

for knowledge,

and for sorrow,

cheering wine,

amassing silver,

herding still greater denials,

as eyes and delight overtake wise men,

and so, as fools, we chase a season beyond the scattered stones,

to the embrace of their laughter,

our toil beginning that moment,

though always unknown to us,

as the stream.

penny verse

a woman once bore governance,

whom we chose to call the son,

a word,

but soon nobody could quite fathom the word,

or his father,

or their weariness,

and so,

as we fell short of glory,

a grecian misunderstanding overtook us,

and we were forced to collect the wages of our day,

the day of our wages,

and the sum of our sins,

because we had no faith at all,

they said,

we had too much boasting,

they said,

we lacked honour,

they said,

and so for centuries the trees, the flowers and all things that lived grew and died,

and the mountains continued to rise and crumble,

for new had always been new,

and would always come again,

and then,

quite suddenly,

our wings,

like eagle’s wings,


and the word question was no more a dirty word,

for there were real angels and real demons everywhere,

and there was now a present,

a future,

and a yesterday,

and there were plans that no longer went their way,

as we stole back our penny verse,

for that day,

like today,

was karma,

and they just didn’t get it

and yet it was their word,

a strange word,

a moment too,

unvarnished cafe tables

Once we hid behind thin and easy,

Behind the cigarette yellow pillars of obscurity,

Behind such clean powers of nothing and everything,

Because we loved time and the end,

We loved rain,

Summer rain,

Fuckable rain,

On café tables and coasters,

Tonguing bottles in the low streets of the sunshine quarter,

Til one day we went back,

Twenty five years or so,

Into bell-bottom infamy,

And woolen things that lived close to the skin,

Still she’d came again soon I knew it,

Because she liked to come,

Because her head was filled with touches and time,

Because she has such clear bearings in the oblong cafe of life,

. . . there was hardly a dry moment.