No holding hands today.
Just the empty wet surface of the Bridges,
The grumble and splash of the traffic,
The thick grey hiding sunlight,
Infinity trapped behind a blanket.
Just Kerouac, bookshops,
A caffeine rush, a slight panic,
A brief aimless inspiration.
Water. Dishes and detox tea,
Small drops of guilt, nuggets of hope,
The wholesome taste of aniseed and fennel.
My unfinished room, an unfinished heart,
The mind in a strobe-flash like a television
Just Love, like a giant question.
Like a child waiting to be tested.
Just bits of a work of art,
Simple painted thoughts,
Scruffy ideas in a sketchbook.
Outside the trees
Are slow and graceful,
Deep and gentle like water,
Musical - in total flux.
There is no sadness
In the face of autumn,
Just a soft rustle of joy,