It wont be long now.
The inner circle disappeared
when a group of invidious positions
seized control of planning,
the utilities have quit smoking
and refuse to supply the dialogue,
the jaw doctor has repaired the signals
and broadcast the orders to the compulsive talkers
who can now issue their certainties.
I'm in a feverish little place
close to the moment of truth,
halfway down a ladder awaiting a delivery of rain.
Six consecutive defeats play havoc
with the darkness my strategies subsist on.
She has a new set of empathetic friends
who like to discuss self esteem
and those who do not have it.
There are people who still want to meet me
to visit the library where I fabricate my alibis.
I know the river is close to completion.
All I need is rain, torrential rain;
just one last look at the estuary.
home page
A wind thinned silence hovers
over the unstirred vat of the forgotten,
the clocks have stopped,
the spirit of the drip feed is in a coma.
On the lawn there's a petrified forest
of nurses standing around
the smouldering remains of a wendy house.
On the other side of glass
the night porter has melted
into a pool of molten keys.
By the needles and the nerve gas
an appliance vibrates autonomously.
A door swings open
but no one walks through.
The consultant with the broken neck
hit town town an hour ago drunk
to confess his secrets to strangers.