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
Miss B Communication
Never answers
To Mr N O’time
As he
Loses track of Miss C again and again
Those unreliable fuckers!
Start writing…
I didn’t bother with much of a title but I started writing as you can see
But I’ve forgotten how to write, or rather I think it’s forgotten me
Start writing…
Next to the damn curser, every new fricken line, start writing, start writing… but how to finish cleverly this time…
…stop writing.
I long for your caress
As my iced heart now positively thaws for you
I crave for your touch
As the hairs on my skin
Knowingly Awaken for you
I pine for your kiss
As the ghost of your lips
Search, as mine do for you
I yearn for your words
As my heart throbs a new beat in rhythm for you
I ache for your embrace
As my body resets to be completely and only for you
I hunger for your companionship
As my mind that wandered
Now has direction straight to you
And I desire your passion for me
As I wait ever so patiently to be with you
You speak when you’ve not spoken
I rest upon your eyes
You can sense what most cannot feel
Until the walls come tumbling down
Mind the gap
For there is a place
A slit in time
With an empty space
Sending you through
In a unknown direction
Travelling sideways
To another dimension
Mouth it clearly
But don’t make a sound
Commute this
The London Intheground
Suspended in VHS
Travelling to ends
Triggering rewinds
From tape to tape to tape
The grainy
Through the rains
Unsteady
In the rolling winds and mess
Memory Memorexed
A cassette drape
A piercing, white blizzard had arrived, and everything familiar had all but vanished.
That’s all Joel had noticed in 3 seconds of eye-lash laden observation, shortly before his body yanked him backwards; his deadweight dropping him to a soft land.
It seemed for a while yet, he should remain foetal.
And you walked in
Like you owned not the place
But the place that you’re in
And you sailed through
Like your heart pumped the waves
When the waves needed you
But now
Im not so sure
On these stories told
When you think you know more
And want less
As you grow old
I Eat Let.ers 