Somewhere, the 9 till 5 office worker stops me with a deadpan stare,
Fixes me with the times of timetables passed, the graph paper squares
Of tomorrow’s schedule. The high-rise offices never bother to look down.

I never liked the city.

Never really cared
for the city’s callousness, its daily suicide,
the shadow at the top of each building that watches with certainty.

C...

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Woke to the 
                cold
kiss of winter's ache and the
thud double dip and dance
of some kind of animal outside.
A fire burning somewhere. 

To you, the blind lady,
winter was just a series
of sensations –
the scratch of a naked branch,
the rain (only colder).

The utter embrace of silence.

This was for a contest on deviantART in which contesta...

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Beneath the biscuit-bitten moon of dawn

Something’s coming.

There’s a hint of something unknown,

unprecedented enough that even the howling wind has flaked

To something spider-thin;

To the bare wire frames of lyricism.

Since then, the sky has darkened.

And static has started to  skitter across asphalt and window-frames.

L...

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outside the window,

an ocean of poppies,

red like denial.

she watched them day-in-day-out,

from sunset to the first shards of sunlight

which crept through their stems

and reflected the underside of their petals.

from this she saw veins, a tiny network of

lines like join-up-the-dots,

a motorway map

thin like emotion.

dadd went to war ...

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