Thursday, 13 January 2011


I'm facing the roads that didn't take,
And the blood flows ice-cold;
The present absences,
Summon up themselves,
Just like that.

Arising - eyes stark rockets,
"Look!" they point,
Down this road,
Then this one..

So, round-around and round the spaghetti roundabout we go.
Waltzing phantoms slide,
Shuffle around,
Blend into,
And vaporise, whistling through me,
Misting away:
Mist into mist;
They will never say goodbye.