South-End

It is quiet today,

The train empties out its soul,

Silence is barely pinched

By the funfair.

Gulls form random complications,

A single pattern,

Suspended as an object

And we leave like the first time

Out of a cinema.

Action Against Awe

With one big hand

I grasped the twinkling aeroplanes

From the stars.

They blinked at me,

Scrunching them up like paper balls,

I put them into my smaller hand.

There should never be too many lights in the sky.

It is inappropriate. 

The Crow

Is it all you wanted?

A spattering of snow

Against the cold ground.

Were you happy how you ended?

Any deeper

No-one would know you were there.

Do your black iced wings remember white morning skies?

The changing moon,

The yo-yoing sun.

Now a breathless puppet,

Once a vessel for air,

Reduced to a kick-thing for the inquisitive child.

Outside the playground.