The Tracks Of My Years

The Tracks Of My Years


We sat cross legged in summer dusk

A smoky haze passing through

Admired artwork airbrushed

In fantastic swirls of colour

Reading words in synchronised

Staccato with the music

Flowing from the stereo


Simpler times

Longer hair

No aching joints


I wish we could do that again

But friends disappear like exhaled smoke

And some a...

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A Wound That Never Heals

A Wound That Never Heals


It hurts me

when a you shaped hole

appears in the cosmos,

where there is

an absence of colour,

where the sound

scrapes along,

where the light

is masked by

dense grey mist.


That’s where

I miss you

the most.


When it rains

a greasy rain,

when the cracked bell


when the planets

are misaligned.



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After the bath
she used to drag
black worms
of coal dust
from the corner
of his eyes.

He has never cried,
though sometimes -
when he thinks back -
for no apparent reason
he finds charcoal
on his cheeks.

He is clean now,
though for many years
every crease and wrinkle
on his angry forehead
was gritted with
carbon hate.

Where once stood
a newsagents
on the corn...

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