Saturday, 27 April 2013



Having woken
Or rather failed to sleep
I am fumbling at the catch
Of my therapist’s words but
Her meaning eludes me.
Having lost another pen
At a poet’s book signing
I am kidding myself it doesn’t matter
As I search for a pen.

The lies we tell ourselves to
Prop up the truth
Are as fascinating as the
Truths we conceal to
Bolster the lies.

Having gone beyond sleep
And aching with every tick of the clock
The red eyed dawn is up with me
Checking itself for morning.

The truth is David Bowie, I have let you down
I have let the milk float ride my mind, aware
That you advised don’t and
Now my psyche is full of
The pecked foil of frozen winter,
The snap, crackle and pop
Of a cereal killer wet with cow juice.

Shattered milk typexing the road
Into endless hypens.

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