a life lived in Bits
thins and pales
let the sun dance
across their eyes
and pixilate their hair
a step to the sand is
what young minds
were made for
a douse of the sea
a scent of our earth
to stitch in
undeletable smiles
a life lived in Bits
thins and pales
let the sun dance
across their eyes
and pixilate their hair
a step to the sand is
what young minds
were made for
a douse of the sea
a scent of our earth
to stitch in
undeletable smiles
tin man sits with rusted dreams
and cradles this hard fought fruit
a comfort wrapped diviner
for all his past mistakes
he tries to stop from looking back
as his body starts to grieve
pulling petals from his chest
to lay at her naked feet
for the journey
for the softer road
the keeners have come
to shoulder away the dying light
and sit heads bowed
in a moribund grey
as this night falls
with a dark that
gently folds us in
and shields what
we cannot see
until the dawn
our reimagined morning
she’s been walking hills
pulling through sand
and a shroud of mist
that her buttery breath
curls in front of her face
but hopeful edges of light
bring dawn to the sense
of her new beautiful
a focus to a clearer view
of where she may go
our broad horizons
have narrowed to
witch finger peaks
too thin to call home
too cold to give warmth
not meant for this world
‘there’s someone in my head but it’s not me’ Pink Floyd 1973
she sits and stares
palid porcelain thin
waiting to be told
when to go
looking down to the woods
where dark birds wheel
in sensuous veils
eclipsing her view
they bring no comfort
from the tumble of
perilous voices she hears
that come to her un-invited
as the strangers at the window
who stole her daughters face
pinned it to the wall
with her certainty and will
and crouched by her knee
waking a smile from the past
with a stroke of her cheek
as fleeting as her breath
snark tracks lead
through the brush
claws out
strafing the mud
be careful how you
pick your path
which poisoned fronds
to push aside
which turns to make
their golden song
will weave false
threads in your ears
and draw you like
a moon pulled tide
to a hidden grove
their craven moot
where they gnaw on
the bones of their young
her hand rests
gentle on the heather
with it’s thousand silent bells
not persuaded by
the unsettled breeze
to give up a song
but a whisper instead
from the sea
always she waits
pinned like a dusty moth
to a promise and a doubt
her hope chasing the lost
fire of a sunset over
the hungry ocean
a devotion to redeem such
joy in her heart again
a blue coraled night
saw me away
the catch in my throat
bagged up with my bones
in a care lined sack
I watched steel birds
cry their farewells to the
naked amber streets
of my sugar grimed
balm of a city
it’s resonant hum
my ambient song
they took this fledgling
to disappearing shores
and a stretch of sea
that was just
a pig with wings
until the wind rushed in
and pulled me away
his boat lulls
as the hooks wind in
hung with iridescent
ocean blades
little line dancers
of flailing breath
that twitch and slither
into the trough
a century of seasons
are stowed behind
his watery eyes
though he does not weep
for the sleek and flesh
he has no time
or gaps to fill
his leathered hands
a constant husband
to the sea
and here he will be
until the fish run dry
until his wispy smile
no longer persuades
the belly of cloud
to let the sun through