The Vagueness

The dripping tap must be the source of the noise
the insistent drip pause drip pause repetition
designed to twist the mind to break resilience
forced striking rhythms weave sense to describe the pain
it takes so long to stop by then the pain is gone
but instead, a vague sense of dread pervades
the air: it is thick with the substance of permission
stretched films of expertly crafted stones
blatant edges of stories frayed memories
inhabit a fallen husk from a palm
cupping a small pool of cold rain
the surface is broken by the wind

in the wooden window
ancient fruit sacrificed to the sun or food for the desert
we construct a heritage to fit with our pretentious frills

The onset of the gray and the beginning of the final chapter
these pages are precious but a savage wind takes a few

the story wanders like a musician dancing on knives
drawn swords crossed and kilts cutting the air

the drinking is going to be deep this night
what is a few brain cells
I hear we have trillions of the buggers
whats a few over another pint
one for the road,

one you will piss on the road on your
miracle walk home decorating and singing
no memory of opening the front door
hope that rich scent does not mean I am sleeping on the lawn
the opening scene in some 80s romantic suburban sit-com dream,
the way the world was and is, the camera pulling back
mandatory soft music dimly lighting the afternoon sky

Things are different now
there is not so much meaning between reality and the dream.
When we stopped going on adventures my dreams became normal things
there were no more dragons or guns
just a sunny island and you
clinking the glasses and drowning in the Mediterranean light
eclipsed by my pale Fedora as I look below
and remember those fateful sounds
I waited on the edge of the world
watching people’s lives discarded
I wrote letters to the wrong people
and looked at star charts and meaning

All I could find were traces of you
but nothing of me
it was as though I did not exist
in your dairies, when they write the play
my character will be a latent addition
like a waiter or worse, a gardener
and your dairy had a lock on it
your imaginative life
was far richer than my gray day in and day out
chuffing myself for faking it at the office

And there you are, in your magical worlds
staging your plays and painting your workshops
the group meets friday and we told them to bring cakes
lots of cakes
lets drown them in brandy
and kick up in our deckchairs as the sun counts down the hours
the evening dancing by the taverna
to the call of evening frogs