The Tunnel

It’s called time, the measuring scale standing between I will and I didn’t

And it’s all a matter of time till I convert promises into regrets

like a jet lagged traveller stuck between date lines and time zones;

I cant be sure that I left those moments behind like a hit and run with no witnesses

Is that why I try to forget more than I try to remember,

I can’t remember what I need to but I remember each moment I fall like I need to…

Time becomes a draw bridge slowly opening and thinning it’s planks into a sheet of paper

so thin that it’s transparent but this moment’s text will forever be recorded onto it

and folded to be tucked underneath my pillow as fodder for my nightmares,

even in my daydreams; my recollection is so vivid that I don’t call it remembering;

I call it time travel and I time travel so often there no longer is a now

just past moments that I’ve experienced much too late,

social cues that have reached their expiry dates.

I wish I could time travel back to the moments where the promises were still fresh

Not even now could pull me back from your smile

Where I am now get’s harder to reconcile

But I know there will be a place there for me to spend a while





Piss stained card board

When 5 o’clock comes knocking around,

you will catch me sighing silently to the clamping rotation of the passing trains metal wheels

You will hear me tapping my foot to its percussive cargo banging along

on its cold steel tracks,

I’ve been beaten down like those cold steel tracks and I guess you can highlight those as

the sad ,mute lyrics  of the morning

I cover my ears when the whistle blows,

This has become music to me, not just a steel snake hissing smoke

I find the car alarms and crowing roosters therapeutic, it reminds me that I’m alive

That I’ve survived to play my music

I place my hand on my heart to feel the heavy acoustics vibrating from my chest

This feels as real as the morning humming itself in through my open windows

“If you taught a machine to feel, do you think it would somehow form an appreciation for music?”

That’s a question I ask myself as I cling to the broken circuits leaking out from my waist

I’m trying to reassemble broken cogs they stole from me

They sang as they were doing it – it sounded like they were mumbling out of tune

Maybe you didn’t understand my song, you couldn’t step to its disjointed rhythm

I was a faithful drummer boy though, impaling the air with the solo a capella notes ringing out from the crowded chambers of my voice box

They were singing in falsetto

No they weren’t , they were singing in false echoes of a dead siren

Attracting flies instead of men

And I thought you’d save me

but instead of saving me, you joined and sang along to the chorus

Now there are no vocals that can wash those words out of my head

I don’t think you’ll ever understand why I’m leaving

Understanding is beyond your stubborn disposition

And so I know you’ll find my departure a mystery

But I call it an escape

I’ll rebuild my song with what ever I have left of my chords and i know its not too late

Like a grinning compost heap
I know when the night comes. i can almost sleep