For the Good, the Bad and the Insane

Under the smoky exterior of this creation

Lies the silent victims caused not only by nature

But the tragic necessity of scale weight;

Where one rises the other must fall,

Engulfed by fear; an anxious ghost

Of the lonely past, cornered by circumstance.

Floating over the grassy road lain down by the sky

His dextrous limbs in continuous flow

The cat wonders toward the moon.

Adrift from his past,

Obedient to the whistling song of the air,

Comfort from clouds that stroke his sides

The last swirls of provocative colour conjure his final dream

Uniton

A dark silhouette drags toward the next orange mist, scraping unrhythmicly over the neglected past. Camel’s back groans with discontempt for moonlight, bending under cruel weight of half lit candles. Mr Figure passes to his inevitable destination as he passes by whispering brick and sly grass, turning left at the y and not moaning but quietly huffing. No thought creeps, just blank. Shoulders waning and feet lead-like he proceeds without comfort or tactless counting. Cranking chains move forcefully within his knees, stumbling on the last stretch, aching neck and crisp joints.