what help might have come at the start of the song

was lost

as lullaby

carried on into alibi.


what sleep steals from life

will never be returned.


and there’s nothing a dream will leave alone –

nightmares are

made of

what eyes

overlook /

of what lids will hide /

of those crevices and rifts

where the past hides.


where confessions

lurk under stones

only to be overturned

as restraint drifts away

into exhaustion.


comfort has no claws which can’t be clipped.

there are no memories which won’t

sharpen beaks

on ribs

fighting for the heart.


what bumps rise on skin in waking time

are regret

trying to slip out, away

from the guilts

they claimed.

From Enter The After-Garde

Habits travel out from the heart

deep and stiff as canyon walls

Further forcing

another Golem

into being.

Furious sleep takes reign

over narcoleptic beast.


Sometimes even a twig

is enough to hide behind

And so

In turn,

secrets and ennui

creep back

hidden in harmony’s

quick refrain.


Read those poems again

having forgotten


, seeing

new binding

on shelf.

Wished the force went away from those words

so there could be room

for these thoughts


, they couldn’t


as this


sits atop another’s work

holding in place

a new way

to failing