consciously vague

it trickles

in drips

of drops

of dribble

whilst always

just missing

the tip of the tongue.

it speaks

with no language

blank pages

when written

where once

there was music

old songs are unsung.

but sometimes

in places

in daylight


yes briefly

a twinkle

a glimmer of inkle.

yet never



what it all means

i'm trying

to remember

last night's dream


24 owls

yes some are blatantly

secretly flemish

whilst others hobble-plod

like that 3-legged dog

which you pass some mornings

or occasional evenings

some supplicate cress

some cling to the ceiling

the darker ones

they're hell folk

they're born with 13 elbows

further some last a second

some stay for the week

then some have swollen glands

& others wandering hands

- yes every day's unique