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

Look

Look

You've lost your look
It used to hang around you
Not quite like a transcendental aura
More like a can of beans
Ready to be slopped
Upon a white, Pyrex plate
With a few Lincolnshire sausages
A medium sized free range egg
And a slice of toast
... A strong cuppa cha
To wash it down
And lamented upon
For the rest of the day

The Sun

The sun is blood
And it holds time
Not like the chilled 
Atlantic winds
Dispelling all
But the will to sleep
Its photons fall
Like shot
From universal lips
And are absorbed
By flowered faces raised
In fragments crisp
And universal sips