what will you say

will you know what to say
when I look on astonished
by what the years
have taken away or
dragged into the waning light
of this blue winter night

will you know what to say
when I forgive all
I know you cannot give
without all that you knew
giving way

will you know what to say
when we’re done
with the pretense
that brought us here
against all sense
when I touch you in a way
that belies
all I tried to hide
with gestures
to dazzle and blind you
when a hint of your touch
will be enough
to swipe away
such confessions
admitting all
but the mention
that here we are again
singing of beginnings
when we both know
it can only be the end

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what of it

and what of
all the talks
we don’t have
because this
is not the movies
and astrology
gives no guarantees
and saying
what we both know
won’t change a thing
and then there’s just words
littering the space between
so we can’t even look
at each other
without disappointment
so we avoid contact
smile, joke, seethe
and cry resentment
into dark humour
poured back in shots
of snide comments
until hate settles
to the bottom
of our guts 

let us sit
swollen with words
stomachs full
of hopes mispelled
seeping in,
running through
our veins
flooding our dreams
as we wait for the day
we can calmly expel
their decay  

mused

since life would not
amuse me,
I made a muse of death
she told that tomorrow
was but a promise unkept
a fine wine
aged to vinegar
crumpled hopes
stuffed into pockets
a hedged bet
never repaid
today is sudden
thick flakes
falling flat
the words let slip
through lips
full of hesitation
twisted smile
whispering
I forgive life
all it cannot give

small confession

I am ashamed
that I preferred you
when you were
still searching,
wavering, wondering
and becoming
rather than now
that you are
decided, defined, done
and moving on

not today

who would want to dream
on a day like this
made for pondering
waste and decay
rather than possibilities
who would dare partake
in the birth of ideas
and formulate plans
when the rain is relentless
and the hours drain
in endless gradients of grey
where slumber is
the only ray of light
pointing the way to tomorrow

halfway there

It’s not alright, but I’m okay
I’m wading through
this soggy day
checking items that won’t wait
and prepping for that lucky break
that won’t come until too late

Outside, the leaves
dance in the wind
flitting and flittering
under city lights
like they will never
fall underfoot
to be swept away 

It’s not alright, but I’m okay
days rise late and slip away
I sit with words
tucked under my skin
the hopes they contain
seeping in, running through
flooding my dreams
with vain promises
fall, I know, will not sustain
past the first frost

coming to grips

In this house where I sit
chomping at the bit
wasting spit, talking shit
as if it matters
what I’d rather do
I’ll watch them grow
until they go
and leave this home
to crumble around
my sac of bones
rattling, prattling
of the days gone by
and how words
were my saviour
when the feast lacked flavour
how rhymes were my beat
when the weed was too weak
to get high
and the light was too dim to see
that lines needed crossing
not treading or threading
into loose weaved lies
that couldn’t hide
the dirt in those corners
no one dared reach
or the unspoken distance
that no one would breach
lest it reveal cracks
and lead to deeds
too rash and brash to retract
and go on acting
like all is just fine

time sets

This is the time of day
when the light
of inspiration
is replaced by a bulb
of annotations
listing tomorrow’s duties
when petty pinpricks of frustrations
turn to burning indignation
for giving in to expectations
only to be disappointed again

It is the time for rage
to take the shape
of something whittled
smooth and sharp
and be stuck into
our unsuspecting hearts
just to feel them skip a beat
so we’ll recall
why keep
holding on 

just rain

the rain plunks, splatters
I try to pick up a pattern
but it’s just rain
it runs, careens wreckless
down my neck yet
it’s just cold
it jabs my eyes and skin
making to soak in
but it’s just wet

tomorrow there will be
yet more wasted leaves
dead as the words
you dropped at my feet
muffling my pleas
for some sense to dispense
with this need
to come clean

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