Painting By Numbers
Somewhere deep inside me, there's a room called yesterday,
with paint by number figures, lightly pencilled in, in grey.
...
Looking down, it thought.
Past the body it was responsible for,
one leg raised, kicked out,
moving sharply, by slavish reaction.
...
‘You’ll have to find somebody else now’,
and she spoke to the green in his eyes,
there was nothing from nothing about it,
so the laws of the jungle seemed wise.
...
The sun’s going to sting in a minute,
along West beach to Bracklesham Bay,
you see heaven is open and selling,
by the pound, with a well stocked display.
...
As and why and where my love,
as and where and why,
things that balance off the shelf,
fall up to the sky.
...
I fell under a promise and was crushed, but scrambled free,
the words careering madly on, into infinity,
...
People roll their feet up,
paddling for lost balls,
...
Yellow rubber gloves and a bucket full of spuds,
creeping like the devil’s own, luring silence to the bone,
...
Minuets of dancing wishes, lap by circled lap inside,
tripping up where promise caught them, facing down into the tide,
...