i visited that quarry
i stood in that riving shed
as you call it
i watch that slate worker
split the rock ever thinner
each time
the bond
between mother and child
was too much for me
every time
I found myself on the wasteland
i worked in a quarry
we crushed our rocks
mechanically
mercilessly we pulverised them
into dust
then calcified the dust even finer
each time
i was to be overlooked
not even to have a share
of the spoils
every time
i found myself alone and lonely
he placed his leather jacket
over her mid-summer shoulders
she thanked him
with a meaningful smile
then she ran
such that he had to chase her
this was how
their life was going to be
beside oceans
also on aeroplanes
his passions
knew no boundaries
descending through mists
landing among sea frets
his desire lifted
to clear his clouded mind
in every part
of every life
there will be absence
was there a cupboard
at the foot of the stairs
in every place
there is another place
a story as yet untold
or never to be told
I have this thing
which I wish to do
that I want to bring into being
yes it is work of sort
but a creative effort
to bring a purpose
there will be writing
and reading
and recording
also art
of ones own
also art by others
this will be
my outpouring
for anyone who wishes
to make a connection
we awake to death
at the nerve ends
of our existence
those sharp tingling
pains of chronic waste
see there goes another one
and another behind the thigh
on the rim of the knee
somewhere between the shin bone
and the ball of the ankle
in this way we are reminded
of our body’s impermanence
for one half of the sensation
is a new life beginning
samsara
you invited me
and I was compliant
yet unable to begin
the deeper conversation
for it was
your line dance
your island
your cottage
your double bed
