• 4:30am

    They start drifting in
    I push them out
    They try again, a little more urgent
    I push them out

    They beg to get my attention
    It’s working
    The kettle is on
    Now what?

  • The needle

    The needle comes and goes
    forgotten completely
    until the day it returns
    biting skin and leaving indelible stains

    Each mark etched
    is no less than a word itself
    spanning decades
    Drawn in pains of grey

    The words tell a story I have forgotten
    like someone else’s map
    The pain long gone
    in stinging lines of black ink

    Maybe the story is never finished
    anymore than a stream running to sea
    Maybe it is my story to the world
    the story of here I am

  • It was cold out

    I wrapped up and went walking
    it was cold out
    I picked up two little stones to warm my hands

    The wind from the North
    smelt of snow
    My nose running for shelter in my beard

    I longed for something and nothing
    stumbling along hidden paths
    Through brambles of thoughts

    I trod in dog shit
    It was cold out
    I picked up two little stones to warm my hands