Category: Poetry

The equestrian creature of our dreams is the national animal of the Celtic country. For more than 600 years. What? Innocence and Purity and Chivalry and Masculinity are called out by the Scots. As all the cultural reasons. For the mythical creature. To crash down onto Scotland’s coat of arms. Single-horned creature of magic. Transformed into a beast of hero-worship for a kilt-wearing, sword-wielding, blood-thirsty Braveheart.

The signal tower with crumbling plaster Bereft of signals, no need to switch, now a broken toy, Or the empty house where the couple, nameless, Everyone knew, lived forever. What remains?

When I look in the mirror I’m looking for someone who looks like me

Daffodils of autumn

Do you know why the stars never fail the night when it’s young and early? We’ve lost more time drawing ourselves into a tomorrow we aren’t in.

For The Beatles IT was yeah, yeah, yeah, IT was across the universe. Dylan found IT in the captain’s tower between Ezra and Eliot, or possibly in the tightrope walker’s pants.

Moving restively through a corridor of dust. A beep of a car alarm being armed reminds me of a fire consuming a town.