strange shoppers

There's a full moon in a pale sky. 6 pm is 6 in the morning with streets full of birdsong. Occasional rush-hour cars pass unhurriedly. Driving somewhere? Or just driving. A pavement door slides open for business. One ten-scarce-items-or-less laden woman shuffles out, counting her children. I am permitted to fill a young man's footsteps … Continue reading strange shoppers

one last poem

Words fall like autumn leaves. A low dying storm, pressured harbinger of winter, irrevocably sucks them from my lips. Golden on my tongue, they tumble in many evanescent colours. Flutters of purple prose scarcely tinge the air as they drop. Zestful orange phrases, deprived of sunlight, wilt untouched. Yellowed poems drift with the breeze like … Continue reading one last poem