Parallel Lines of a Thousand Skyscrapers

A beautiful face never to be seen again, has looked deeply into your eyes on some crowded street, with some silent or mute message that you will be allowed the time or intimacy to understand.

Imagine each ribcage you brushed against,
Opened like a triffid and snared your unlived days inside.
Listen to the traffic outside
& the sounds of stolen cars driving your dreams away.

Somewhere,
A house is haunted by the colours of gutter rain.

You think often:
‘Sometimes the night doesn’t have to fall.’
An imaginary voice on the phone which never rings:
‘Let’s build a home from diaries and red wine.’

Somewhere,
There is a sea made entirely from glass marbles.

There is a Cheyenne word for
Preparing the mouth to speak,
We stay mute in lisped history.
Lips are the silencer on a rusty revolver.

One morning time will die
& it will be embalmed by love.

Somewhere,
Hearts become mahogany
In the forests of no faith.