EXIT

My hands will be cold, still marked by the things I did. Blood that once pulsed everything I was, will stop and tum upon itself. Belongings once mine, become homeless, a place of trespass, and only those who loved me will stand alone at the exit and know I am over.
They will choose meaningful readings, that someone thinks should fit, and a priest will carefully say my name, without mistake. Until after the flowers and the cards and the tea politely sipped by distant relatives I hardly knew; they will commence to bury the conscious in unconsciousness and I become an oldish day when they all gathered on newly tumed earth.

RAIN SPELL

Just then it chose to rain. It was the end of everything The past had spoken to itself and all that remained was commencement. Seeping into the granite crevasses of the town dripping from green leaves unburdening the grey sky down onto coloured umbrellas and dashing men seeking shelter
In smoke and alcohol words wrap up words the dust of unused dictionaries dispersed to settle in our wake then out along wet pavement home through the busy town the tired town where we cast our charm to create a constant for our lives

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