Absolutely Miles Away …too many clouds, too little time…

this is so real, so real it’s true

we all pass as water under the bridge in some context.

(it’ll never break, no)

all falls

all is all gone and leaked subtely out of ears
disappearing before we got the chance
to rein it in
rein in the rain from years falling in
deftly trampled in leaves under
ears pricked to
the misleading autumnal crunch
an urge not to let go
an urge not to lose yourself
not to lose yourself in this haze
but all that can be seen is mist
the daze and haze of mist
the sheen of water and the subtle stench
of leafmulch
drowning in this heady atmosphere.

don’t turn and wave on departure
whatever may leave departed long ago
the turning tides thicket-set in tundra
can only welcome a honey glaze of snow

for years i’ll live in the cold
the shiver never to be lost amongst
a light dusting of lost language
not spoken


Hold this card. The phrases were intended never to be read.

Or read and frozen, kept under lock and key.

I have never understood, because i understand too much. Sat undercover, hidden in the remains of uncertainty, smashed to smithereens. Like a plain china plate in a tablecloth. Don’t try and follow your convictions; they seem to always turn out wrong.

Too much going on in the head, they said. Don’t try to medicate or overcompensate, just let it take its toll. Or the good times roll.

Blend it all up and serve it in a glass, presented on gingham check, its substance slimy with intent and intellect, oozing from pores and glands.

Time has come to pass this way. desperately clutching for every human characteristic to hold on to, to take its hand, form the softest of handheld notions. To gently slip fingers between fingers. A tiny reassurance, that although i dream of stealing away miles from selves, i wish to be here in this moment more than the magic of any dream could create. Relishing the feel of a different kind of skin in the smallest of contacts. but at the point where fingertip touch heightens sense amongst… Draws out lines and dents, scar and skin and hair and bone. Melts into forms, of waxen drip through veins, ice sprinkles on skin. Breathing life.

It is all i can think of, as the waters surround. Take my hand. Yet another vision in sleep?


another journey on another train to another destination to make miles pass and time past until showered over with a watery grave, ploughing fields of the past, maybe which should be left.  Left.  Right.  Left in a shadowed graveyard, with a setting sun drawing crosses on the grassy land in a hand of which only spite could leave the last laugh…

[in layman’s terms: i have been away.  i shall be back soon.]

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