A Letter to You
3 A.M. in the kitchen
Shooting chips under the white light
Hitting our heads on your door,
A kiss missed
The smell of beer and smoke and sweat,
The screeches and giggles and clouded sight
Kept us young, we thought
Spurred on wildly.
But through it all
I have to say
I have listened, kept separate by thin boards
From the nervous glances and stammers
Glinting in half-lit rooms of revelry
Staring up, caressed by the globing noise of it all
Of the same
But the shine is duller;
Teeth wrapped with pink and drawn tight,
The fuss hides the quiet moments
With the strips, bottles, hushed shouts
Is you, lying beside me
As the sea keeps its calms
Like a tear
A Garden on Kimberley Park Rd.
Right now –
With green around me and blue above,
concrete below and beside
the drone of midges
life mute and blurred over
This may be the best,
these moments I see may now be
visions of life to tempt me
through the bleakness of the everyday.
If I never did anything
noble or otherwise
what would that mean
If I rested forgotten
A cold day; grey skies, heavy clouds.
People make their way
to and from
harbours of light
a sea of dead eyes solemnly marches in procession,
no one knew the dead; they know not why they tramp.
The coldest of days would thaw this frost,
biting the Unreal City.
Dead eyes blink at dead eyes
dark muteness stifling the bitter cries
made palpable by the silence.
A cold day, heavy clouds
There’s someone dancing
in the rain
they say she’s insane, then
I want to lose my mind.