Saturday, December 29, 2012

Long Lost

A friend in a snowstorm leads the way by shouting
but at a distance waves their arms in futile hope of recognition
as though shapes between you became easy pickings

the fruit that dropped last summer tasted fresh and juicy then
but now appear like the mould gardens time made
them excuses feel like rusted chains around your ankle
word carved legacies of pain compressed for convenience

The crevice opens so his mind wanders away to forget
but the truth tumbles in reversals of logic like the footprints
guilty around the trunk of an axed old tree removed from the garden
so nobody sees it their own problems take precedence
as they are supposed to

they are alone in the bedroom
but the ghosts outside the window clamour for their meaning
A man in a dingy escapes from the holiday that has driven him mad
A horse in the desert wanders this way and back again in search of the rider
But the air is heavy and the taste of gasoline ever present

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