It’s a funny thing

How the world doesn't end

But how it tries

Still everything is foreseeable, some say

And there is a pattern to these things,

Just as the way the milk swirls

Around the coffee cup

The solar system

Relaxes into it’s golden reel.

Even the very scene in this cafe

With its table and chairs

And newspaper

Dated December 1st

Are all part of predet...

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Full moon.

A wolf turned human

Is given papers,

A leather carrying case,

A chair and desk

At which to gnaw

His new chains.

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The moon is hiding it’s face

All night the wind

Bullies back and forth

Through the sleeping city,

Turning over bins and

Tugging at the rigging

Of the dismantled church,

Howling with discontent

Like an animal gnawing

It’s harness.

The all night news

Ferries us to sleep,

Despairing voices

Indistinguishable from our own,

Come to us on the night shore

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The cat must be eight down,

He looks so tired

When he walks down the stairs,

Keeping his back leg raised in the air

Then pausing halfway

As if to wonder whether

He meant to go down or up after all.

His hair is thinning

And there’s pigment in his right eye

The vet says may or may not be

Liver damage,

And still here he is,

A shadow treading darkness,

To lie ...

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Late night

The house creaks inside itself

Like an old man shifting in new shoes.

Who else is awake at this hour?

Only the rain tapping on the sill

And the memory of someone

Trying to get in

Another lesson

In unfinished business

Stepping through the wall,

Her bare arms showing.

She is luminous

As though in the office haze

On a long summer’s afterno...

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There are too many days

Without words being said

I forgive myself and then think

Of how I cannot see your face

That's moving out everyday

Alone in the dark.

Is this how it happens?

Like the garden mutating before us

In the falling evening,

It’s tall trees slipping out of certainty

Leaving only their shadows

Surging in the dark

Signifying nothing.

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You've been whispering to yourself,

Like a radio turned almost to quiet,

Occasionally humming a tune

To give yourself comfort

Like the cat purring in the house alone.

You're the empty city

On the long weekend in summer,

It's empty escalators riding up and down

It's traffic lights changing for no one.

You're the townspeople

Who won't leave in the face of...

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Edit. take 2

All day and night was rain

The morning too,

Summer overflowing

Green, overwrought

We passed roads unrecognisable;

Verges narrowed by verdure and

Overhanging trees.

The mind too was a rabble of thoughts;

New, hemmed

Heavy as cattle huddled

In the corner of the fields

Sighing in droves.

We drove thunderstruck

With news of a loved...

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The vaporetto between San Marco

And the glass island of Burano

Is packed with bodies

June through August.

At the hottest part of the day they come

Clung to railings,

Tethered and straining,

Sweating into the space of one another,

A feter of sweetness and diesel.

Japanese teenagers, German couples,

Knapsacks and selfie sticks, others,

All stood still in t...

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What good does it do to complain?

The fates are blind to all of us

Look at the winter fly

Dead upon the sill.

This morning I swept away three more

Their bodies still intact just their tiny souls departed,

Like cars abandoned on the roadside

In a film about the end of times.

Sometimes it’s as simple as that,

The best years of your life

Defiled against a...

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A soft night of noises;

The house frets, restless,

I sit attentive to the kitchen’s wired shell

Fussing into silence.

Until there is just the elect lamp

The damp night air

A pallet of wine,

An earthiness and eucalyptus

Breathed from the darkness

Of the courtyard

Beyond the open door.

I attempt to write you long handed

Trying to conjure you back into...

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