Leave your name and number and I won’t call you back Each star a message if it blinks you can recover it like the answerphone’s indicator that you’ve missed a call Stars just high enough to break the surface of the water should they fall Your breathing too loud impatient to be somewhere else hanging lanterns compassionate faces like moons an alcoholic darkness smothers any little light of hope chemicals and intuition dueling it out at 3am recognize their familiar taste a heavy pressing against the forehead affirmations can’t compete it is not their nature… Read the rest

the hand that you reach for to be reassured the shoulder you cry on the love that you rest on, when hope falls away under your feet – could be mine the gaze that you’re lost in the invisible thread that lifts you up on a thought of connection, the words you reflect on – they could be mine take one heart and feed it with love inspiration be your blood and there might be a shooting star to let me know that you are safe and sound Do the thoughts that surround you bring you peace?… Read the rest

this night moves as slowly as the moon across the sky waves, as it passes by an open bedroom window I’ve decided not to spend my love on cheap show-rides that spin me round and dump me and churn up my insides Instead I think I’ll save it for the kind that takes its time.… Read the rest

your house when you are away lights candles and burns them for you arranges fresias stolen from a friend’s wedding likes their smell wish-making liberties wide open arms honey and clove scented bedclothes Even black and white finds its colour over time sepia photographs and the walking-towards purple of Indian ink such silent reverence for the control of a brush so fine touch-paper hair-trigger sensitive Invisible sign on the door says “Just gone out to meditate – back in 50 years” no fuss you are… Read the rest

Your house when you are gone goes back to bed tucks its walls carefully under its feet sleeps in undisturbed and warm has toothpicks lying in the carpet. Coats of late-July sun paint the kitchen and back garden smells of cigarette butts wants you back Potted plants and slug-bitten herbs wait for their daddy with upturned leaves crave to suckle with amnesiatic expectancy your bathtowels and shirts, sway on their lines to pass the time between showers the Northwestern motorway praises mass construction meters from these creaking canvass chairs Whispers through clenched metal teeth – “can’t you see I’m busy”.… Read the rest