The winter used to feel long.

Ecstasy was a pill
on the tip of my tongue;
a common thread I missed.

I used to walk the streets
as if I did not deserve my shadow.
The imminent falling bomb
the only reason to exist.

Sobriety was a sleight of hand

hiding in plain sight.
Paradise were the moments
where I did not have to fight.

I used to sing for love
I would never get back again.

I used to talk to God
in the absence of a friend.

The winter used to feel long.

The summers were too brief.
Turned to every medicine
for transient relief.

I broke my back for a living.

Now I drink in the sun-glass shade.
No anaesthetic; no clouded mind.
I walk the river

a thousand miles
from all I left behind.

Spring-loaded,
Nervous energy;

Often wondering
In an archer, a yogi-
Gathering static strength,
A tension
With the potential
Of absolution;

Else a stopwatch wound
Too tight. A pointless climb,
An effortless demise-
Out of time,
Out of mind.

Cannot walk slow.
Baulk beneath
The cathedral,
Lengthening of the shadow;
Another wasted day.

Often wondering
if idle or incomplete,
Whether the chip
On my shoulder
Is a flute
Or a fatal malady.

Managed the cap and gown
With a professional smile.

Found my audience
When I gave it up.

Often wondering
What I am doing,
Sat drunk at the typewriter
Alone;

Often wondering
Which is more fearful;
the void
Or the comfort of home.

Did you ever fit the cut?
Did you ever sing in key?
Did you ever light the match
To the pages your prayers have been?

Did you ever get in line
In your struggle to be free,
Did you ever cheat in love
To find some honesty?

Did you make it out the crowd
Just to find you are missing out?
Did you ever have too much drink,
End up ******* in the kitchen sink?

Did you ever cheat death
Just to feel alive-
Just to see what it felt like
On the other side?

Did you take drugs
For that same reason?
Does your mind shift
With the patterns of the seasons?

Do you look to the future
And forecast a storm?
Do you ever plan an early night,
Then fall asleep at dawn?

Have you ever fallen in love
And acted as if you have not?
Have you ever drank your demons
Under the table; under the rug?

Do you feel confused too?
You know, I haven't got a clue
what I am doing, where I am going
- is that the same for you?

Summer time,
Eyes vibrant; alive

With occluded featureless smiles
And women in vest tops;
High-waisted jeans.

Innumerable particles of dust.
Old autumns,
The fallen, forgotten;
The flying are free.

Local cover bands play
In the central courtyard
Of the landmark church.
Lazy vendors, market stalls;
Head shops selling smoking papers
And gauze to gather the dregs.

Alone, acquiring old technology
To keep my search for intelligent life
Away from the screen:

Typewriter to enforce thought to my word,
Punch to every letter like swollen breath-
No going back.

Record player to erase perfection
And leave what is human.

Constant temptation to stay inside,
Dream of our day in the sun,
Constant recollections
Of debts accrued; summers spent

Glass in hand, stretched out on the grass.
Free time without the desperation,
No imprisonment from the moment,
All hot and high
Over dwindling supplies,

Simply laid to the elements,
Burgeoning love
Before the scars came.

Tattooed a hundred reasons
Never to fall again.

Part-time gardeners tend to fenced-off fields.
Far from the commute,
Freed from the suit; the neck-tie
Ceases suffocation.
Sweat paints a Jesus face
On the lining of their backs-
Old grey t-shirts
Toiling an enterprise
That paints beds of dirt
And enlivens the stems
That wilt with age:
Their weekend Eden.

Straight mile to the beer garden,
Old foes, friendly faces,
Residue rings, the sweat of lager
And loose change over numbered tables,
Stained and chipped
In the entropy of revelry.

Crates and boxes of wine,
Patio furniture not orientated to the screen.
It is easy to believe
The modern life is free.

Teenagers learn to drink,
Learn to love what will finally
**** them.

Parks filled with cannabis haze, dried snacks,
Picnic baskets beneath disused goalposts.
Single mothers dutifully mind the sandpits,
Longing for an ashtray; an outlet.

Someone to stand beside them:
To say they are doing fine.

Air cools by evening, shawls appear
Over exposed shoulders.
The high-waisted women,
Shudder a memory
In my lack of a moment.

Paranoia of approaching darkness:
Another day without conclusion.

Cataracts that form in the night,
Tomorrow’s stain; last year’s trauma.
All the money we spend
Trying to forget.

Asleep; skin cools and reddens.
We praise our vanity,
our hangover;
our morning
Beyond the experience.

We forget September,
The onset of winter.
Details sharpened
And losses forgot.

They drink in the beer gardens,
We bathe in our love,
Until the warmth gives out,
Until the feeling is lost.

The cello sings Ave Maria.
Distilled calm; blister packs
In a wet July.

There is peace in every grain,
So fine. Wore away the stone,
Three drownings in the sea.
Annihilation

To build a monument
We settle upon:
Our paradise recovery.

There is warmth after the rain.
Ukulele played on the
Gran Cervantes balcony.
Off-white scars;
Pyramids with no eyes.

Every stoner sleeps.
Every kind heart cries.

The Arc of Life sings a lullaby,
Still I cannot get calm.
In a wet July

A comfort to staying inside.
We tried, wore away our lungs,
Three renewals in the sea.
A leap of faith,

An old keepsake
We contrived upon:
Our lunatic discovery.

There is movement in death.
Pollen falls to the ground;
Exhale of recovery.
Dead-end joy,
Statuettes with no eyes.

Every criminal weeps,
Every kind heart lies.

The cello sings Ave Maria.
The strings that heal
In a wet July.