( Saddest )
The best game
ever that
when he woke up
he broke up with her
Because there is so much darkness
Around the room the scattered tables
merge the tentative touch of skin on
skin merges with the talk of
relationships by those who have
barely had relationships with
themselves
the pattern of development of
perhaps and maybe shattered in
the shy moments the centre
quiet
still
for now it holds
and the balance is maintained
ever that
when he woke up
he broke up with her
Because there is so much darkness
Around the room the scattered tables
merge the tentative touch of skin on
skin merges with the talk of
relationships by those who have
barely had relationships with
themselves
the pattern of development of
perhaps and maybe shattered in
the shy moments the centre
quiet
still
for now it holds
and the balance is maintained
He lumbers ancient leviathan
cane protuding through the
conversations knocking them
into each other
It is all just spiritual crap
Except nobody has the time to
You have to have the right points
to have a good character but
It is all about sex
He lumbers on,suspenders keeping
himself together blundering
trying to drink the room into
focus he is still the
large dark shadowm of
someone else's past/
cane protuding through the
conversations knocking them
into each other
It is all just spiritual crap
Except nobody has the time to
You have to have the right points
to have a good character but
It is all about sex
He lumbers on,suspenders keeping
himself together blundering
trying to drink the room into
focus he is still the
large dark shadowm of
someone else's past/
I tell them my dream
and they call it lonely
in the dream I sit in
a crowded room, this room
awash with the scent of
coffee and ale and
conversations that will
scatter across fractured
memories at first light
I sit in this alone
and in the reality
the sound is a
human surf that
lulls me into a
state of comfort.
and they call it lonely
in the dream I sit in
a crowded room, this room
awash with the scent of
coffee and ale and
conversations that will
scatter across fractured
memories at first light
I sit in this alone
and in the reality
the sound is a
human surf that
lulls me into a
state of comfort.
She turns with black
metal crystal and
freezes slices of
each moment this
is her world the
process of restoring
creation to
those created
it is the camera
which is the observer
she herself merely
touches the button
and slides into the
inbetween moments
recorded and recorder
and this was the night when
and this was the night when
and for the time it takes
the shutter
it is that night again
metal crystal and
freezes slices of
each moment this
is her world the
process of restoring
creation to
those created
it is the camera
which is the observer
she herself merely
touches the button
and slides into the
inbetween moments
recorded and recorder
and this was the night when
and this was the night when
and for the time it takes
the shutter
it is that night again
Tucked into the corner the
soft sound of hook and yarn
They sit amidst coffee and ale
and skeins slowly being absorbed
from loose wool in catlove balls
to something created amidst
their conversations in the wood
and ale and each other's company
They knit their words into the wool
quietly tucking the gentle laughter
They are knitting tomorrows they
are knitting friendship
They are knitting bonds as they
sit tucked into the corner.
soft sound of hook and yarn
They sit amidst coffee and ale
and skeins slowly being absorbed
from loose wool in catlove balls
to something created amidst
their conversations in the wood
and ale and each other's company
They knit their words into the wool
quietly tucking the gentle laughter
They are knitting tomorrows they
are knitting friendship
They are knitting bonds as they
sit tucked into the corner.
Not so much the unexpected but the unusual
she sits on the sofa of unexpected depth
without depth she sits in imitation
of Edwardian debutantes out of the country
for the weekend and hoping to be
considered a flapper if only
for this one night in dim lights
and the slipslung alcoholic spurts
of men to be gathering in loud
hopes of cutting through the
background of the music and
each other to be the one
the sofa yields to the aspirations
the sofa has yielded to better
she sits on the sofa of unexpected depth
without depth she sits in imitation
of Edwardian debutantes out of the country
for the weekend and hoping to be
considered a flapper if only
for this one night in dim lights
and the slipslung alcoholic spurts
of men to be gathering in loud
hopes of cutting through the
background of the music and
each other to be the one
the sofa yields to the aspirations
the sofa has yielded to better