This Stasis In Phases

Roll on and toll
to a beat
A beat that moves
the ground
These fingers are
extinct and mobile
Leeches to
crisps and data
Squeeze my knee
and I’ll say sorry
Yellowed tips
of grass
Wave in steam
around fag-ends
is easier than it looks
This soup of sound
makes me homesick
The floorboard
rhapsody rubs me clean
Even ghosts make
a sound
on these stairs
Flakes of plastic
make snow in doubt
Shards of old bikes
make their home in new thorns
And this is where we
make our home