Sadness and contemplation.
Dulcet tones whisper depression –
of angry fists that bite at the moon on a low haze.
Volume: up. Blink. Destroy that
whole foundation built on colourless memories,
almost chasing steam for a pick-up.
Then it’s health and respite
carries it passenger –
if only for a false reflection of time.
I left the shattered shades of the sun
upon the garden to the left,
where I hadn’t seen you,
and I’d missed you amongst your roads.
Only when peace had docked
does the mourning return.
Not ‘why happiness?’
But ‘what happiness, where?’
Like tears, we drench out sad reality
with escapism in savage paint;
we buy books to read away our sins,
forgetting mourning lurks behind
our outward-turned backs.
Then sunlight is a breath before the darkness.
It forgoes memories, drenches hope
with some new flicker –
horizons on the insides of lashes.
Eyelashes. They curl like your quiff.
And breathe. It passes and it returns,
it flows and it stills. My heart: she
drums never to my own faulty footsteps.
The moon is blue and black with tepid craters
in my thoughts. Can’t find the line – this way –
and anger has stronger hands.