A long pause found less often
under my doom-scroll thumb –
I am talking – keep it down – a
silence once met as our angel
ghosted overhead is my class-
room’s one-thing-left – viewed
from this gallery above – recall
& scent-heft – ‘til re-embedded
& met – a pause again of more
than myself – here is my ghost
on my stair – bob o’ dark hair &
cool perfume pair to announce
her place in my house – so still
between us & un-breathable –
it undoes us – a moment there –
almost a loitered kiss shared &
other steps taken – but a ghost
was my imagination’s guest – I
will look to scrolling for what?

God! – that awful parent
putting on his brash act
[with his obnoxious son
& heir] – equally his wife
at fault – A trouble-some
thought ’bout Lewesians
fresh from London’s spit
[thin brick-rich refugees]
& I aim to unsettle them –
Sour dough lovers will sip
rich lattes in independent
coffee outlets & chew fat
croissants [DFL again] – A
time to burn their crosses
& guide them to an Ouse-
slip-bank – let them slip in

Panem et circenses still work
to stump us – Fed on loaves &
lies thrown as confetti [spread
until faded & trodden-in] – We
sit in sunlight’s scrub of heat –
warming after winter’s rub &
tease – Juvenal [long-dead] is
laughing in Rome – Our orders
in coffee shops dull a request
to pay more for [basic] needs –
sour lectern-gripped masters
let us know things’ll get better
[for others] – Spring will return
a short-lived fling in our hearts
& ambitions’ll rise [for a while]

Ten years on & it was decided
he would be less of a man [all
such threats have diminished
in time] – A decade-back pills
& timings did not work well –
found licit supports fall away
under tactless acts [it’s easier
now to live alone & not expect
others to conduct themselves
under kindness] – Less now is
expected of others & less now
is known o’er days of chat – An
auld woman scurried from his
local coffee shop all hunched –
she had created a discomfort
[now she was bent by weights
& did not care for love] – Done

We have these chairs
[unattended]
in rooms without visitors –
Here an
unannounced party was started up
by after-bar wanderers –
Hosting a
half-dozen sour souls to love you
[a
table to centre us all] was my gift –
a conclave before a pope –
Now he
is dead –
you are dead –
even if out
on this dreaded High Street –
you a
dead lover of gatherings round you
& un-seated too –
I’ll not invite you

There are rats the size of cats
round the back of Pells Pool –
rum-scurriors with little regard
for others
[at work on toss-off
& fallen birds] –
Bucks & does
fuck under rumpled sheets of
ivy within a stones throw of all
those rain-bent dog walkers –
We are promised milder air by
this weekend
[a sniff of spring
would be a welcome thing] –
I
counted four of those fuckers
last I was there –
my Room 101

There is where deer rolled
over collapsible bracken &
left their weight as shadow
indents [between dartings
they find rest] – ours was a
yomp up – Mungo’s Falls a
shallow pool pissed in as if
a faucet left on – pretty too
after a heavier rain – Up to
our brace of parked cars –
then a race [over Ashdown
over forty] to a beamy pub
where we unpacked more –
I learned of your love of ale

It is still fucking cold
[even with climate &
other things] – shiver
fits take me into a hit
of tremors as if sick –
There’s no warmth in
this dead pub – a pair
of would-be lovers in
a discussion ’bout all
their auld fucks are a
level too loud [p’raps
I’ll crunch my crisps]
& I bear their flirts as
my pint is downed – I
will warm in my bed –
alone I will sleep well

Were pubs always this loud:
that rising of a conversation
over others –
amplification a
common action
[swearing &
a low command of language
too richly shared out aloud –
& shrieks back] –
Now I find
myself in a lunchtime lull as
a barman types his account
of in-outs & my quiet pint of
too-cold stout settles in still
air –
creak of chair is a cry –
no more said in a quarter of
an hour supped –
I agree in
empty pubs –
less is slurred

Their Queen Bee is ageing
under pull of time [& uglier
tugs] – When she’s gone a
vacuum will not be filled &
their needs’ll shift from her
narcissistic love to feed on
false memories – I sat with
that hive of love buzzing in
dances under rose bushes
that bore red curling petals
& watched beauty drop – a
frantic ant scuttled onward
to feed on beauty dropped

Yet again ghosted
by a spooked fool
who leaves chat &
embraces un-met
with a dead-end –
scared off by their
assumptions ’bout
how bad for them
my illness will be –
that’s cool – I have
discarded love too
for lesser excuses
read on WhatsApp
[licentious – cruel]

So I shall die not knowing that
difference between a swallow
& a swift –
my list of undone is
mine
[in this time to add more
is mine –
too] –
I will settle into
a canny long-ish ignorance –
I
have it etched
[well enough to
wear over centuries] on stone
in advance –
He Was Not Told
Why –
& other deeply scored words

There is one less card this year
now she has gone –
an opening
not to expect & one less kiss at
this time of year to take note of
[& will be missed] –
a care less
to fold open –
our consolations
count out gaps to fill –
I missed
that box ceremony
[uninvited a
common part for me to play] &
how shall I be remembered eh?

So I shall die not knowing that

difference between a swallow

& a swift – my list of undone is

mine (in this time to add more)

So I shall die not knowing that