Every Road.

Every road

inclined

as weighted

days and

weighted limbs

collide.

Children

scurry through

his minds as bright

as the morning

sun.

Eyes of piercing

certainty

truth and grace

embrace these

last scenes

and hold them in his

mind like

luke warm

wine.

The Cement Garden.

A warm incestuous writhe

of bramble and honeysuckle,

the sweet decay a funeral cologne.

I taste your marzipan breath

yet suffocate waiting for your eyes

that stall and never reach me.

In your garden the rain sounds a

discord of our coupling – a gentle

trespass playing summer’s saddest

symphony.