letter to spring / michael kwack

in a wind

there's a scent of spring

i've passed the winter away

in a far place alone

but only hours of emptiness

and got to write letters now

the last confessions

to me and others

then to meet the spring

in complete quietness

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Forgive me father, for I have sinned.

It has been eighteen years since my last confession.

My hands are trembling

Forgive me father, for I have sinned.

In these last eighteen years, I have failed.

My eyes strain to see in the dark.

Forgive me father, for I have sinned.

I am a compulsive liar.

I feel my stomach churn my breakfast.

Forgive me...

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Jimmy would stand in queues

he had nothing better to do

it helped him pass the time

busier than any church pew

he might pick the odd pocket

at girls rubbing and grinning

on Saturday go to confession

confess to a vicar his sinning

mam told him to wrap up warm

made sandwiches for his belly

strange folk he met in queues

impatient grown up and smelly

...

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A piece of my yearning

was lost to the churning

sound of a life laid bare

inside the confessional.

Seated beside a lost pirate

of the human race,

stealing unwitting souls

selling my skull and bones

to the undertaker for the

price of my wretched sins.

A reprieve for my soul?

Well, at least, that's what

he promised to me.

I had my doubts and

left him fingeri...

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Is it not the beads you count
Is it not that blessing
Is it not your seated position
on the far side of the screen

It’s here I come and spill
twisting myself as rope
endlessly unknotting 
a constant confessional

And through the cracks
behind the mesh
I feel your furtive eyes 
licking my salacious lines

Dear reader
you are my witness
you are my priest

Is it not the way you br...

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A List Of Things We Buried In The Garden

- A photograph of better times.

- An empty bottle of scotch.

- A well thumbed copy of ‘True Crimes’.

- A useless, broken watch.

- Seven bottles of little white pills.

- A pair of latex gloves.

- A folder with a thousand bills.

- A bunch of dead foxgloves.

- The broken vase they occupied...

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