With no tick to follow no tock
There’s no time to bury the clock
No sound and no seconds pass
Silent underneath the old greying grass
Look now, but nothing to hand
No force to stop our falling in the sand
No face, no clue, no trace
Blessed and released with no numerals to grace
No chime to reminisce
A speed of race that you can’t miss
As definite as an everlasting rock
Time to decide to bury the clock
My old band’s single from lost album Dreaming of Roads, soon to be lost no more when released on the 28th Feb 2026. A mere 23years later it is very much better late than never.
Miss B Communication
Never answers
To Mr N O’time
As he
Loses track of Miss C again and again
Those unreliable fuckers!
From an unofficial sound within
Perpetual motion of recurring dream
Where nothing make sense without that a…
Pause
And all the while
While overplayed as forever is
I was noticed travelling hazardously
On a tidal surge
Leaping frantically
From debris to ever flaking debris
As to be floating somewhere still.
It was endless
And then it was a sunset morning
With no time to kill.
The repetitive patterns in the winter leaves made Clarke feel like he was playing on a carpet; from a once forgotten lounge.
Swallowed by the forest, the air felt milder; an invisible, unscented smoke hovered high above the refrigerated mince of woodland soil.
On the ‘Otherside’ (from beyond the ditch) were perfect branches and twigs a plenty; perfect for finishing the greatest den.
Clarke jumped into the ditch whole-heartedly, a ditch created by the landing of a clumsy giants arm, and he disappeared toe to head in the deepest, softest patch of leaves imaginable.
Miraculously, Clarke discovered he was on the ‘otherside’. Standing there, looking on at his parents; they seemed statuesque in their mid stretch and bend to collect their woody additions.
‘Mum… Dad?’ He called out to them nervously.
They couldn’t hear him or see him, for they may as well of been painted on canvas and hung as stillife in a hallway.
Clarke panicked, and jumped into the very same patch of leaves.
Relief immediately surged through Clarke’s small frame… He felt he was somewhere safe after all. Clarke ran like a bouncing, rolling jack to his parents who continued to forage with renewed vigor.
Gonna get up
Gonna write something
Get up
And write
Write Something
Something great
The best ever
The number one
Gonna get up
Here it comes
Gonna write
Something
Something great
Here it comes now…
Ok, tomorrow then
Deep in the night
You’re living your life lonely
Strung out before the dawn
Standing in the lounge
Silent
Motionless
Dumb
Rush blended
On palette
Many shades of night
Exhausted by being awake
And self-consciously
More awake than ever necessary
Overcome by the nocturnal
But sleep is somewhere
Someplace
Misplaced
Lone
Temporarily in common with
You
Half-a-pence
Of nonsense
And a teardrop
Of morose
Slow drowned
With canned
Laughter
And nothing
Comes close
While some of us are thinking about it, some are actually doing it, and those who are doing it are usually telling me all about it. By all accounts, there great at it too! And feeling greater about it, every… single… day!
Honestly, I’m over the moon for you, I truly am… warms my cockles… no end. But, In my thinking… and trust me I’ve had the time too (about what it is you’re great at doing), I have got to say, that I’ve decided I would be so much… much, better than you! Even if I wanted to do it, but I don’t even need to, (I’m actually laughing in my mind), I haven’t even thought to try it… unbelievable!
So, just in case you’re thinking about telling me all about it… again! Don’t bother because I won’t be listening from now on, I’ll just be… thinking about… me! Maybe not trying it, deciding not to do it… again!
Thanks for listening.
I Eat Let.ers 