rain spits
on the cracked
fragments
of another
day
the streets
slither under
a sweaty
sheen
lights reflected
in rippling
mirrors
blink
with the tread
of
footwear
or
the nonchalant
splash of a
passing
car
blurry faces
emerge
and
disappear
muffled voices
rumble
in the
background
Vaulted arch of sombre stone,
Stare, endlessly stare.
Leaden sky of bleak perdition,
Loom, wearily loom,
A solitary figure deepens the gloom.
Faded shawl of threadbare green
Hug her sobbing shoulders.
Flapping skirt of brazen tartan
Clasp her legs, so white and bare,
The wind whips her flailing hair.
Patient car of sheltered blue
Admit her to your metal tomb.
Ashen life of pale regret
Take her from this wailing sorrow,
Bring her back again tomorrow.
Fumble for words which don’t exist
Your tongue stuttering like a twisted
Machine-gun that kills innocent children.
Fumble for some coherent thoughts
To brush away the cob-webbed dampness
Of that vast and agile mind.
Fumble for a group of worthwhile friends
To clothe your naked solitude
With garments that keep you warm.
Fumble for a hurricane lover
To stir your silent seas into
A vortex of unlimited confusion.
Fumble for a life filled with meaning,
Where God smiles and the angels
Keep patting you on the back.
Fumble for a peaceful death,
A quiet way to escape those other
Bastards fumbling about in the dark.