home, where is home now?

dead in the back seat’s

loneliness, and hours

spent gazing dead-eyed


fields now houses

where childhood grew in -

amongst the gargoyles and old-

man’s bearded bramble snipers

used to hang there midair in the

those tree armchairs counting

cloud sculptures reinventing

their finite floating castles

then began to rot and older

became sullen, pity such

protein, scarecrow thin in a

mirror’s angst and hesitation

clumsy as drunkenness yet

seeking somehow wonderful

underneath the bare sheets, those

slightly damp twisting, twisting sheets

uneventful dreaming and morning

wakes empty, does not fit belonging

does not fit in anyone’s smile, there’s

an ashtray of sky beginning to snarl

so here is the anchor relied upon a

root of a room confided in, had this

cocoon some twenty one years

familiar as daily wearing

here comes now to dismantle, how

dismal, anxious as a thirst or unsubtle

effacement, unrecognisable where-

abouts coming, 4 walls of unknowing

evening breaks about its final seeing,

a moon swung, cornish for the last

time, swords the land around older

looking as vintage, obscure photographs

won’t the sea miss my footsteps, miss

my glimpses? a stride of circles where

the seagulls greet and glide uproars

of blows and salt beginning winds

tonight this world lapses, knowing

backwards won’t be revisited often

as, there is fear like a noose of a

rain-scarfed-moon alone

about to be ripped, to be pulled

from such a loamy dwelling, going

is quite soon, towards future of

gnarly spires, lost lane’d sprawling

towards being swallowed the

city that hangs its occupants

by burial or sleep’s attained walking,

lonely such lonely listening

arriving wept train crawls in and

eases slowly from elsewhere,

the rhythm of rain-wet-voicing seems

to tap “why are you even here?”

spired, concrete shoulders, unfamiliar,

folk swarm in and about of everywhere,

strangers in doorway gaunt jaws, a three limbed

dog, a cardboard message “ none dream here”

mouths and mouths more than shingles

on a shingled shore, interfered with air

traffics the odour of used, whose to know

me anywhere? pavements quick with martians

i am being pigeon watched like a possession,

buses ghost by hissing their wheels on several

occasions, “take me to the room that’ll keep

quiet in” “whose to consider me here?” “no-one”

whose to know my outline, my whereabouts?

whose to roam this vulgarity of shyness to

be initialled? anyone? where the red river calls pulling

my every direction into absolute bits

happiness eludes upheaved roots

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