22 July 2005

After a night in town, with Jack Daniels

On nights like this Death cannot come too soon
as I lay awake, on my bed, in my room

and hours fall on me like drops of rain from a leaking ceiling
they quickly form a pond, around me first,
eventualy inside me, a deep well of bitter water

When I wake up, the neighbours' grand oak tree has been blown off its roots
Taking with it half the garden fence, some of the roof
and the new concrete garage - now reduced to rubble

Atop my own roof my grandfather's weathervane
spins wildly and triumphant
having conjured up a storm

How much my life has changed since I met you

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