Friday, 14 September 2012


How cruel of you to tell me,
years beyond the fact - Months -
beyond the turning point -
long since I held track -
shivers down my backbone -
and I'm craning to look back -
my brain is starved of oxygen -
starved of all the things I lack.

How cruel of you to whisper,
like its just another fact.

Staring daggers through your eyelids,
shooting pigeons flying back.

The love of sheltered wisdom -
the clairvoyant in the back -
the rooster in the hen house -
screaming wisdom into black -
the big mouth striking blindly -
leading the attack --

You are none of these exactors -
glancing daggers off my neck  -
you are just a poor rememberer -
you aren't granting me due slack -
you are a headlight flood lit sanctuary
from which there is no turning back -
the banks clear burst the estuary
and the sea starts swirling black -

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