Greed

Flocks of people?

Send them to the wretched realm of consumerism

Where they belong

The season belongs to me and the crow

He yammered on a damp, rotting, bench

Fuelled by a Sixer of white tiger

The heath was still in a pre-Christmas lull

And the frigid, frosted earth

Belonged to the stalking steps

Of red webbed feet and black talons

Christmas doesn’t belong to you

I whispered from my clear-cut path

To the caff

Only the slow rotting of organic matter

And the absence of memory

Happy Christmas to you, too,

He gave a husky salute

As if reading the words from my lips

Slipping for a moment from my well-defined ways

I made my way to him

Crunching over the iced spires of tufted grass

Guessing the build of his demise

It belongs to all here, I shouted

The robin, the goose, the water vole

Even the parrots, those late customers

From down south

They don’t belong here

He grumbled beneath a thicket of grey beard

But they are here

I laughed him up

But he sank down like a chilled worm

Into his piss stained tweed

GREED! He roared

Greed, I repeated softly

Waiting

I’m sat here waiting on leaves

The sky is coming

They never warned me

About that

The tarmac is always wet

Downside of the street

You and the images

The magus

The motion trumped 

By stillness

I’m now on the park bench

Tree-side of three corners

The crowd 

Drawing in, pulsing

Flashing in chrome

The headless languages

The August Fengler

‘I am the cage of freedom’

She spoke 

And nothing more

My cigarette ash 

Is falling upon my scarf

And she is crushing 

A lemon 

With a screwdriver

The people in that place

Were like creatures

From a vague and awful

Painting

The night outside was immense

Swallows cut the steel lights

To shreds

Candles burned my thoughts

To carbon shadows

    

The fog

I missed the fog

Catching only glimpses from a car window

Or a high point in the town

As it rolled up the trout streams

Easing over mossy boulders

Enveloping a tangle of stunted, bearded oaks

Concealing the rusty, Winter bracken 

Of the moors

Leaving only ghostly tors

Hovering magically between valley and sky

I missed the frost

Crystallising every surface

In cloud shrouded valleys

A world once familiar

Lifted into a mysterious silent realm 

Of white against white

All beauty given

Swelling in the intensity of its own being

Un-witnessed and safe

This spirit is to blame

The breath i forgive

Light attired but ready she died

And sank below the deck

It is a face and a soul 

I have brought into my bankrupt world

And thrown away like sand

Escape

Ive been learning the answers to questions that will never be asked

Dead time 

Hanging around for the big event

Filling the minutes with beer, cigarettes and a pen

I’m done with Facebook for now

It’s a billboard of  nothingness

You were the only person i could escape to. 

Thin

My slipped mind
Is the tale of my misfortune with you
The furnaces stoked
At the laughing hour
Have burnt out my spirit
But I am left with you still in my heart
A soul that once flirted and danced with my soul
Is now missing
The necessities keep coming
They do not give us chance to lick our wounds
So we move on
Layers unresolved
Thin, and volatile