Our Days

At least I got the chance to pretend
That our plans might come true in the end
And if our paths don't cross again
For a time, you were my friend

If our hearts don't hold the same flame
And our lives won't beat in the same way
Then I will go and watch you walk away
But I will never forget our days

At least I got the chance to lay a while
And in the light of the dawn to see you smile
To take your hand and walk for miles
The warmth of your love made me run wild

If our hearts don't hold the same flame
And our lives won't beat in the same way
Then I will go and watch you walk away
But I will never forget our days

Twice broken nose

Everyone knows that the heart's a lot weaker
Than the twice broken nose of a hard liquor drinker
There's a crack in your lip
So the taste starts to linger
Like the pin point of blood
On the end of your finger

Who's the man stood at the bar
I dare not ask his name
Never heard him speak a word
Yet he stands the all the same
Holds that bottle tight as hell
Thinks it will replace the pain
Walks away in dawning light
Falls hard nostalgia lane

I know I'm just the culmination of your frustration
But I don't know how to stop
I've walked the long road back again
Worn holes in shoes and socks
I managed to forget your eyes
To pretend they are the same
Now all I hope is that one day soon
You will forget my name

How long does it take a man to realise that he's alone
To pull the dreams from his head
And to leave his broken home
The truth is there and razor sharp
It cuts right to his bones
That everything he had went down
With that slamming telephone

Everyone knows that the hearts a lot weaker
Than the twice broken nose of a hard liquor drinker
There's a crack in your lip
So the taste starts to linger
Like the pin point of blood
On the end of your finger

Tantalus

Perhaps now I should sleep. For I am so very, very tired

There is a chance, indeed, that I should let go.

Daylight no longer holds the essence

Of chest beating excitement and dilated eyes

That has been delegated to run rampant

In the certainty of my own solitude

My strive for candour deflates my twitching ego

To drag itself along the pavement at dawn

Leaking orgone fluid in university vestibules

And shits synapse of self-deprecation.

The closed bracket is reflected, left open

A temporary city stalks my monolithic gaze

The fear in my blood flees for my gullet

And comes finally to rest like buckshot in my gut

Ruptured for a lack of organisation and apology

Wolves in

Sheep's clothing
Sheep in wolve's clothing
Stalking stock and silken ties
The populace flock
Enclosed in council pens

The cloth eared shepherd
Cowers in a corner
Beaten by propaganda pamphlet
As the wolves tighten their leash
He weeps on the winning ballot

All smiles on canine muzzles
Carnivores got the teeth for it
"Take my paw sheep, we got the world to give"
It might not be yours
But it's something.

Your Wife, the Wolf

Ivory teeth and cast iron claws
Her beauty reeks of want for you
A stagnant breath of life she draws
You are nature's lonely fool

Romantic eyes show intent defined
As she stalks your final stand
Cold moon and bitter wind align
Your life on wrong's right hand

Both clean and swift her bound rings true
And breaks a brittle form
This death it reeks of want for you
A perfect end is born

In Paint

I stand over my sink

Watching as grey water passes across paint stained metal

My muse exits in silence

His drink sat warm on the table

And I wonder if I will ever see him again, in flesh

His eternal canvas rests in the easel

Folded hands in blind judgement

I wonder if he knows

In reality or art

Of the space he leaves behind

The water runs clear, as I turn his face to the wall 

Ursa (Unfinished)

Isn’t it so often the case, that we create meanings in our memories of the ordinary? Perhaps that day was not so different from any other, just one more in a routine of many that I had unwittingly become accustomed to.

A numbed world greeted me every morning, and as I read the daily newspaper on my long commute, I noticed nothing outside the window, nothing of the people surrounding me. Indeed, barely anything of myself. This repetition had engulfed me for longer than I can recall, for time is a privilege of change, and my prison was both invisible and infinite. When the everyday becomes the only day, I fear we are blind to the possibility of anything beyond our walled existence.

I could claim to have woken that morning and felt a shift in my life approaching, a whisper of subconscious alterations to my world, but I did not. I felt nothing. I could only feel nothing. To claim otherwise would be romanticising the events that unfolded that day, an activity which in this instance I will do my best to avoid, so as to portray in the utmost clarity the occurrence that befell me, and so that you may understand soundly the event of which I was a witness. I speak of the day that I found Ursa.

I was out jogging; an activity I occasionally partook of in those days. It was not for appearance, no thoughts of vanity every crossed my mind, but more for myself. The burning muscles and lungs a subtle reminder, perhaps, that I was still alive. I ran with no music, it had been years since I’d listened to anything more tuneful than television theme songs and advertising jingles. Instead I ran, head down, listening only to the sound of my own pounding feet and harsh breath. It was in this manner that I reached the forest that formed a part of my circuit, only realising where I was by the sudden shade cast over me, and the foliage covering the floor beneath. The cool air circulating beneath the trees cooled the sweat on my brow, and I was thankful to feel its soft, natural touch on my neck.

It was then that she first cried out to me, though at the time I did not know from where the noise came. A mournful plea twisted among the branches from somewhere off the path, a sound unlike anything I had ever heard. I stopped dead.