Bury the Hatchet

Bury the hatchet, Or better yet burn it And scatter the ashes so far across the sea We stand no chance of digging it up. 'Cause I know you, You'll get bored and start looking. At least this way We can only stand on the beach And reminisce in what It used to be.

Nostalgia

Grasp at lockets of Headless photographs Pretending it’s the past. Try to remember the waves, The salt air, The seabirds;   Hoist up your memories with fishnets, And gut them so they become something They’re not. So they become A harbour in which we can settle.     In thought or in fact Let’s return…

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The Axe Falls

Around and Around. All around Shadows gather like Swirling dust. Dread grows, The axe falls. In numbness He called your name. Someone Replies... Something, replies, It's laughing. It's not a person, It was nothingness; Alone-ness; His ending.

Prince of Atlantis

Leaves are plucked And sown like dust, light and free, The colour of cinnamon, Hazel and cherry, Sprinkled were the water laps, Smooth and blue, Against the setting sun.   A sky aflame, bloodshot, Clouds blushing scarlet overhead, Dyeing the island and its long, lost city, The colour of wine.   His hair grows fierce…