Out of Time

Sometimes I wake up in a room

& don’t know where I am.

My partner’s?

My daughter’s?


Sometimes I walk into a room that isn’t

even there.

carrying two cups of coffee,

one for me, one for her

and a Sunday Mail under my arm

but that was yesterday.

I’m in the 4th dimension now.

Somewhere in the distance a crow caws, a cat hisses, an old CD

is playing, ‘You’re out of time, my baby’.

I scratch my head, my balls.

How do I get back Where’s the exit door?

The entrance?


A Move towards Empathy

“You’re like Lee Chandler,” she said.


“Lee Chandler, the guy Casey Affleck plays in ‘Manchester by the Sea.”

Jackson liked that film but he did not like Lee Chandler, the way he closed himself off from people.

“That saddens me.”

“That you’re like Lee Chandler or that I mentioned it?”


“The reason I brought it up is that I asked you if you’d like to see Anne perform in the ballet from ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’ and you said you’d give it a miss though I made it clear I’d like you to go.”

“I know. I’ve thought it over and would like to go see her perform.”

“Because you want to or because you’re afraid of being compared to Lee Chandler?”


It was a little late, Jackson admitted. It would have been better if he’d said so straight off but at least it was a move towards empathy. She would have to give him that.

Listen to the Hum


for the ears

of Gilberto Medina,

the 69 year old foreman

of the laundry room

at the Hotel Pierre

who could detect a problem with a machine

by a slight variation

in its hum;

if I could have listened to the hum

of my relationships

like that

I might still have been with my ex,

avoided an eight year trainwreck

I was warned about

attentive to the dangers of the cult I was in

but as it is

what hope had I?

I’ve always had a tin ear.

  • pic courtesy of Unsplash by pieter-van-noorden

Under the Influence



Under the influence

I wrote copiously

From midnight to morning



A devil held my hand

An accomplice flayed my side

My mind had an erection

It could not hide


All my past spilled out

From the attic of my mind

My pen swept it up

I was writing blind.


Such dark energy

Flowed through me

and out through my fingers

its estuary.


* have you ever been driven to write in the middle of the night that took hours?

Locked Out


Let me in. Let me in, I say.

I’ve been locked out.

Do you know how late it is?

Maybe it’s a mistake. I forgive you.

Just let me in. Please.

I need to get back inside my own body

So I can get to sleep.


* photo by Gina Neri from Unsplash