A deepening metal slashes dust

Sentenced to death youth’s dream that may one day

seize the day

 

A clamped unicycle soaked with

the rain of callous words.

 

Crushed by hobnail boots

Bags packed inside my head

going round the wall of death

 

Love as Morse Code; living in different postcodes

 

The rain of callous words

and anguished flowers fading

in the dawn

 

The sound of silence fickles through

our lives in the countryside like

Wordsworth’s Ghosts

 

The title of this poem is…

The plot thickens with daffodils

 

Meet me in the Latin Quarter

talking in iambics; fading into black and white.