Bleach

There’s a light dust in the air
Particles settling like feathers
On lungs and turning collars
A shade darker than the white
Persil bleached reflection
There’s a hum in the air
Lingering dead space
Not quite silence, but I can hear
My footsteps treading on
Chalk coloured stone
Disintegrating houses
Under summer skies
A gust of wind blows life
Back into the brief pause
A second to take in the
Magnitude and energy
To grieve in-between breaths

Bleach

Timer

Big ideas come from
Understanding the robot
As a skinless automaton
Repeating patterns
Algorithm errors noted
Money back guarantee
25 year warrantee
Except in exceptional
Circumstances unforeseen
The unknown unknowns
Genetic defects in lab coats
Dishes thoroughly examined
For evidence. New technical
Landmines expose craters
Slowly filling with sand dunes
Giant egg timers predicting
A new way to tell time

Timer

Blink

I think a lot about time
How its dimensions crash
Through the narrow fields
Of rice and wheat
Ploughing relentlessly
Towards the inevitable
Concluding scenes
Stories that end
Hold greater power
Than stagnant mouldy
Soap left against the taps
For baths I never take
Time finds a way to get
Under my skin
The dark nail filed
Trimmed hair grows longer
Autumnal weather blows
Solitary axes to grind out
A life made of the scraps
As if it’s enough to halt
The silent stare of
Juxtaposed spectrums
Everything happening
In one blink

Blink

Weavers

Carbon monoxide
Infiltrates lungs long before
The over-cooked smell of
Flesh wafts across the borough
Air fresheners only masking
The inside of every two-storey house
With affordable fragrant air
Cooling down from the heat
Under high Victorian ceilings
Jasmine pleasantly bursts
To detoxify olfactory passages
Clothes circle round and round
Still trying to wash away the scent
But the tiny weavers stick
Agonising as they stitch
The dead into the cotton

Weavers

A Generalisation of Demographics

Tomorrow is just another step
On a platform. Train coffee
Weeps down chequered seats
Last centuries style
Catch a glimpse of a grey hair
Sprouting through despite
The cuts I’ve made each day
A book hangs loosely
From my other hand
I’m reading about demography
Trying to understand why punching
People who smile is assault
But siphoning off money is encouraged
I wash my hands again
In that dirty sink
Blood red, veins dark blue
Losing is a learning curve
Hanging vertically from a tall tree
Drying out till the resolve
To remain active withers
In the light breeze

A Generalisation of Demographics

Uncome

Somewhere sits an old conversation
A passage, poetic, muscle reflex
A sadness. My day-to-day devoid
Of wistful thinking
Yet, here; new friends
I have respawned in places
I’d never heard of
Know inner city streets
Better than some
Of these people
I share my food and wine
We talk about our differences
When did I become
So one-dimensional?
Nostalgic for that bond
I had with brothers and sisters
A pack strewn across the land
By careers and economics
Not quite as snugly fitting back in
When the chilly breeze
Catches the back of my skin
Hairs standing up
I am uncomfortable
With everything

Uncome

Fishing

There’s something in the water
Wader, knee-deep
Friend? Or foaming foliage
Aggressive camouflage
Whole species of algae
Wearing microphones
The size of a pin prick?
I’m alert; I’m ready
For a piece of metal
To pierce through me
My initial flinch subsides
A solitary fish swims
Just out of arms reach
Perhaps unaware that its
Existence is in my hands

Fishing