closed stone apertures , dingy gaps , cave holes
tightly snapped , gripped, tracking apps
retracting back, trying to close
swallow grit down with pints of snow
swallows emerge from nested shallows
shielding, .. yet viral shadows follow.
Bone marrow, borrowed from tomorrow's
blood transfusions, infused with blood red sorrow.
Not the same old too -and-frow.. oh no...
Go for a walk, tread the same tired steps away from
dread. Wash your inside face in alcohol.
Numb the feeling , strum the rails , clasp tightly
to bony walls. You can't leave it at home.
Its there in your head silly boy.
Stagger across a road, almost run over by a red
speeding wheelbarrow. Get back in the hedge
a leafy hug and place to hide and join Swallow
in it's nest.
Curtain drawing across beating chest
vision draping , curling wings like feathered fingers
getting ready to sing. Better think of something.
This head needs a new tune , a new ring tone
and a new head for this body to follow.
Come this way , meander that way
but stay off of the same old road.
A year of writing the same old .
Drawing the same old.
just looking for a hand to hold.
by Paul Sinclair