I spied you standing in the wings

With your hand on the lever,

Hair thick with dust clumps and splinters.

They thought you one of their own,

But I knew different.


In the night I could hear

That inner asylum of shrieks and contortions —

Your world in renovation only half complete.

Wild eyes and bared teeth,

Ready to pounce at any moment.


Strapped into the harness of insanity.

Not yours. Borrowed.

Stuck, like a test pilot in a flight gone wrong.

The single rotating axle of an intemperate smile

Drenched in fear.


Weeping Angel

weeping angel one

What sorrows hide you from the world?

Angel, why weep you so?

I heard the clockwork as it whirled

In discontinued flow…

Such beauty now by pain inured

Hidden in palms of stone

Your gaze concealed, from all obscured  

Tell me, for what atone

These vows of silence, unseen tears?

I heard from tales of old

Subdued by time, in whispered fears

Past lives reach from the cold…

Don’t blink. Don’t even blink.

Don’t dare break the link.

The angels don’t exist

When they are not observed.

If seen, they turn to stone.

But do not turn your back

For they don’t hunt alone.

They lie in wait: one touch

And you’re in time imprisoned.

Their kill will not be reasoned:

They feed on stolen moments,

On your life’s pilfered breath,

On fates undone, on paths untread.

Blink once and you are dead.


Secreted sighs

Storms all
Adhere to a code
Dawn brings
Delivery from fright.
Entangled spectres disappear with the
Erase all that is past.
Dare fall.

By falling
You will learn how not to fear.

In battle hardened

Know how to rise up.
Nothing will hurt unless you choose to steer
Onto another’s course
When yours abandoned falters.

Not quite awake.
Other concealments linger,
Tormenting morning slumber

With yet to be forgotten dreams.
How many of their number
Await the pen to zinger them into
Truths? Daybreak.


My Depression… and Yours

Walls pulled apart.

Inside and out:

Rubble rubble rubble.

Breathing in deep the dust

Of human existence.

It is not that I fear death.

It is not that I do not know

The pointlessness of life.

It is the pointlessness of pain

That drives my fears;

And when the world crumbles

All around me,

I ask

Have I no shelter from this pain?

Is there no end?

Rubble rubble rubble.