intent

one day
with you i'll go
to the altar,
ego

summerloved

4 people

warm dark

summertime

bright stark

sticking days

to sunburn

long nights

'til dawn turns

late to sleep

same to rise

sleep wake behold

your deep blue eyes

same day

pursue to follow

full deep not

plastic hollow

wait 'til weekend

sweet sickly air

catherine wheel

warm wind hair

brighter lights

then

speeding slow

when

should have

but dizzy

holding rails

avoiding glitzy

lost moment

of a last chance

mere romantic

dalliance

a bit of...

the stars above

never know what it's like
to ride on the wind

on a fast motorbike

the sun in her glory

splits up the days

but has never strolled home

in a drunken haze

the moon at night

is made of cream cheese

...or is it?

...if it's what you believe

the bingo, leeds irish centre

nine nines

minus one

is a fortune

for john

fifty five

to stay alive

but its gone

forty seven

less one

and the chance

of a stance

once seen

in james dean

is lost

but glossed

so the memory

stays with me

forever

kate connolys bonus

age envelops

as the calendar develops

grab what's on offer

there is only one

a birdsong's a second

then gone

same old story

too inept

to be adept

too daft

for deft

she laughed

then left

same old story

shaded glory

but it's hard to go on

and i know she's gone

'cause all her letters start

'Dear John...'

broken heart

sorrows son

i don't cry

until i do

and i just might

over you

from brooklyn bridge (manhattan end)

i was looking for someone

someone who meant much

her pale petal skin

so soft to my touch

i knew her quite well

inside and out

unsure misunderstandings

and definite doubt

her untouched naievety

yet knowing her lot

through feeling the loss

of a child unbegot

a night to remember

a night to remember

a day to forget

a year in december

the timetable set

nothing is even

minus is odds

the words are breathing

becoming her gods

positive’s negative

upwards is down

wondering how to live

when silence is sound

nothing is organised

into neat stacks of something

leaving appears wise

take nothing and everything