Squash down the words
I’ve said today into a ball
and throw it up to the sky.

The moon grins around it
with tears in her eyes at its
pathetic form as it dies.

Each step is a brushstroke
of a missed opportunity
I dare not to take.

Each keystroke an undefined
error until the lights are
released and floated awake.

Yesterday was full and
wired while we smiled
and just waited.

Today is a silence of
worried pacing that the
night sky anticipated.

When The Signal Comes

The sand mourns night
when the signal comes
and the bugs crawl away
to be free again.

When the signal comes
the world turns in its path
as though against
recognising its power.

When the signal comes
the walls will lift
and the dams will break
their waters on our knees.

When the signal comes
the hard ground will eat
each step in a never-ending
brawl of teeth.

When the signal comes
we down tools and leave
when the magic is falling
lifeless from each open shirt-sleeve.


The riflemen sway to the Christmas choir
Killing time in the snow with their flights
Of cigarette smoke while the bells ring and ring
A mournful tune. The breaks in cloud offer
Sacred slivers of scarce moonlight that each
Deer stops and shakes it thin, wet nose toward.