Its not Monday anymore
The winds came and lifted
the sheets higher and farther
than the stretch of my fingers.
...
Nothing is tangible
Moments are mists over rivers
fast flowing downstream.
...
'You are my Socrates, '
you said
whilst blinded in obscurity
and running from nowhere.
...
If you sit and think of larks
waters rise and take you
bobbing to other shores
of daffodils in blue haze
...
Tonight the snows came again.
There was a silence. Muted, hung.
As if the moment was waiting
for a crack in the clouds
...
An iron door opens inwards
leaving behind an antartica of white cloud
untrodden, ethereal.
I walk out and onwards
...
I wait the morning.
The light that robs me of night.
Its stealth, creeping uphill,
entering private space
...
Sometimes when I breath
I am the Indian Ocean.
Far away and fathomless
silent and numb
...
my life is not important. My mind is.)
Its Not Monday Anymore
Its not Monday anymore
The winds came and lifted
the sheets higher and farther
than the stretch of my fingers.
I stand and look over to the
other mountain.
There is so much land inbetween
And there.......
Images trodden down
under the march of a thousand starlings
staining the skin of the earth
like a forgotten tattoo.
Its not Monday anymore
And I do not wait
for a turn in the light
to caste shadow
or the air to catch the
bleat of a lamb.
It is late, late into a
week of countless days
and the river bed
is turning to dust.