I left the stage and the sounds below,
To warm with you upon this winter’s chill,
Playing at us on the flying trapeze,
We pretty things fall into each other,
But alone I am left to catch the rain.
A carillon of clouds is ringing in me,
But no-one is picking up the phone,
So time and I will have to leave this mess.
If ears have eyes then feet have fingers,
Let’s go dancing with the colours of magic,
And taste ourselves with stolen lips,
So we might touch these seasons of joy.

Or Maybe… We won’t.

Clowns in their tanks, generals and lions,
Time is your master not your doctor.
From you, mine is an empire of bones..
Fashioned into a fanciful silver screen,
I fret and play upon this stage of grief,
With your Voodoo and zombies and Mombies
My angels are weeping frozen by shame,
Moving about us within this photograph,
That I took of us when we were bliss.
If you slept like a kitten in love’s court,
Maybe you wouldn’t dream of waking,
Maybe she could take you under her umbrella,
And keep the rain from falling.