Complacent

Each time we meet

You bring something else

To beat me with

I can’t take much more

I do have to tell you

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Being

The shadow of the airflow

Across the chimney wall

As its origin rises over the radiator

Up into the window space

Could this be my nemesis

Or would that be somewhat darker

And do I even know what Jung means

When he asks me to find this

I really do not have a choice

The need is way too too deep within

Yet it continuously stirs to ask

Where am I then now

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Undoing

I have an inkling

That it would be good

To strip myself right back to the core

But how would I do such a thing

Would I have to give up

Family, friends, acquaintances

And what about the writing

Does that too have to be cast off

Along with the music and the movies

No more to hear Otis sing

Or to talk of past regrets

Also to forget about meditation

What goodness will this bring

To the new king without clothes

Neither a suitcase to pack them in

Take stock, of the wedding ring

You never had old lad

But don’t be sad, no not sad

Nod your head to cherishing

That would be a neat way

To conclude your drift

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Bar

Two lads call in

Workmen perhaps

For a pint

A game of pool

Then outside

For a cigarette

Before racking up

Once more

I try

To think about romance

But nothing is forthcoming

Even though I’ve been in love

Many times over

Although

Then again

I never was a hustler

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Susurration

Teams of dry leaves

Are blown down the main road

As if on their way to the dust bowls

It is the drying, late winter wind

Which takes the warmth of the sun

To release the autumn from the vegetation

They have moved on as I have moved on

Both of us in search of somewhere

Which can only be found

In the quieter distance

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