Wednesday, 8 February 2017


ten thousand wanders later
a victorian pumping station
a conservatory in a palace
the paper city from a high place
crouch end
the bend
of the railway tracks
the secret door
exploring hacks
                        a packed lunch
a weird hunch
that it's better to go forth
 up to the white house on a grey 
hill, passed an allotment
wandering still
how many hours have passed
when did night turn to day
still finding
new places to lay
to rest old stories
past failures and faded glories
with each mile traversed
a thought unversed
surfaces, i held your tiny buddha baby
he cried
i looked at your daughter
she cried
but those dancing eyes
they defied
the sadness she was taught  
and that old coversation
that left us both weighty with guilt
wish I could explain
why I'm never around
why I never show up
wish I could make you feel
less alone
wish I knew what to say
to make you feel like you're home
when we're together 

but there are no words