close II

the past is close behind:
hot pursuit, I feel its
stinking breath on my neck
won't go away - I tried
moving, I tried changing,
I tried a different town, I
tried new air, new clothes,
new habitat - yet there it is

staring back:  the breaking
and home, the men, the
women, the children,
the sunlit garden and the
endless tone, the monochrome -

the past with its big stick
beating me
the past with its hard chain
binding me
the past with its powerful drug
holding me

	and my compass -
	and my magic wand -
my amulet and my friend:

	I am gathering
	I am practising
	I am seeking 	new ways
			new places
			new faces
I have mutterings and hope
I have seagulls and fresh

winds, I have granite
walls and mean streets
	I have beginnings still
	I have a broken head

a dozen broken hearts and
I have endless whisperings:

	tools enough to
hit the road till it sparks
ringing 	 to paint the
skies till they start 
burning 	 tools enough
to split the light the
atoms of the past until
they are small enough

grains the air can 
breathe and blow away

previous poem

next poem