Sidgeon

1. I watched through six inches of window, as the last autumn leaf stretched, spun, and drifted downwards. 2. The door swung wide open, wet drunk on its hinges, and you swept in – bringing winter with you. 3. You have always been my plague; a black nest of storm, dragging a throng of reluctant thunder. 4. I swore in the half-light that I felt a tremor, (though your touch was as light as a feather). 5. The wind howled tooth and bone around your peaked shoulders – through biting hail, I watched the door slam shut. 6. My hands were numb, and I dropped my glass. Somehow, I knew, your breathless season t

The Knife Falls There is a park somewhere, with swings and a slide. It is much the same as every other park. It is only differentiated by the children who play there, the toddlers that are pushed there in prams, the teenagers who try their first cigarettes there. Night descends, and from one point of view something is lost in the park. From another point of view, something in the park takes its place where it has always belonged. A boy of about twelve is playing in the park. He is shuffling through the long grass at the borders, looking for interesting things. Recently, he has found several golf balls, magazines that his parents would not a

Sated, she said, and bowed to the grave nodding her lips to the thin of the wind "Now it is june.  She is tired of being brave." Always there, something of missing and him. Aubades on morning like nebula sighs clash with the porn star handshakes and slick lips. Names of the angels so quick fall to rise. Nothing to know her but broken fingertips. She nods to the smile and turns eyes so austere. But the rhyming part of this poem                     ends here.                                run run she said to the boy.                                run,  run, auld songs, old songs.                           take your helmet, take y