Where is he going?

I see him sitting where he always sits

Sun rays blinking over both of us

we shake with the rumble

of our own lives, hands rest on knees

and nothing really changes.

Where is he going, I want to ask him

who is he running from?

And outside life fly’s by and nothing

really changes, hands rest on knees

and never ever wave for fear of change

and I ask myself does he see me at all?

Can life be plucked or pulled like a thread

moments pass through the eye of a needle

can time be scarred, like a bum note and ring ill for ever

can regret like a pill be swallowed whole?

And I see him each and every day.

Does he feel my scrutiny, my thoughts tapping the back

of his head, hands on knees refusing to wave

refusing to ever look back, where is he going to?

I see him sitting where he always sits

and we both shake with the rumble of our own lives

and looking out over two clenched fists I try

to remember the shape of my face the sound

of my own name and I don’t remember dressing

myself today, no memory of passing buttons

from right to left through soft cloth or pulling

doors shut, of saying goodbye to anyone.

and Does he see me at all,

sitting where I always sit, does he wonder where am I going to?

And I want to throw-up days to will my life into his

to spill over the edge, push every hour,

strain sunlight through a sieve, syphon time

make seconds twitch, fasten my life to his.

And I see him still sitting where we always sits

and nothing ever changes

Where are we going to?

Who are we running from?

Interfering with shadow a lantern burns

to reveal a protector, blooded by oil.

Thus any life may extinguish or alter another

A mirror gives a soul, one other, a twin.

So out of loneliness, solitude and or despair

aided by psychosis a friend alone in the dark