Stared at by Stars

Sometimes I wonder how I can
go out at night, being
stared at by stars, indifferent but
knowing my business,
hearing the rows, the
peculiar silence of
just-slammed doors, the
attrition of life unlived, the
rows of books unread and
unwritten, the smell of
ambition lacking, goals,
projects, leaking from windows.

I turn up my collar, pull my
hat down, refuse to
look those cold
hard stars in the eye.

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A Dead Lover

Death came on to you as abruptly as
you came on to me in that
club, with Christmas coming.

I didn’t perform well–sorry. Too much
alcohol, and I was probably
star-struck, as

scruffy little Runners are not often
chased down in clubs by
leading ladies, but you were

young and alive and
perpetually horny, and I
really don’t mind that I was just

another notch on your bedpost because
however brief, my notch is
deeper to me than Death’s.

Winter in Suburbia

Past, present, future commingle in this

uncertain weather, dull at dawn,

spats of rain like chaffinches in the bush,

there one moment, gone the next, wind

waking dead weeds, the

threat of snow without the

glee of children, late and

unexpected sunset, startling stars,

silence, approaching midnight, as the

dryer switches off,

static making sheets

dance like spectres.

Boxes

I live my life in boxes braced by

metal rods, stage-weights and

hard work from willing hands to

hump them, help me capture some

wisp of a dream.

Complex Geometry

Just when I thought I’d parsed

life’s complex geometry, nature

smeared her own distracting

buggerating oddness over all.