Abandoned: All Those Who Enter.

Walk Outs Welcome

Some sort of critical mistake I'm making

causing a lack of double taking

and keeping in contact.

Sliding off shoebox tops

flipping through headshots

of cancelled callbacks

reminiscence mixed with sighs

Walk pasts

and un-read texts.
Modernity

only limits your chances

of a pity ffffff-….riendship

Polaroid went out of business

so we can’t shake each other

to make the image of some past thing any clearer

Snippets of lyrics left on doorsteps as steps away

a disappointed head case sees that his knocks

will not move onto your doc-martin boots.

Like cars during a black out at an ugly carnival

There won’t be bumping any time soon.

Belly button snap shots

jump rope over morality

occasionally tripping face first into bed

with nostalgic tee – and sweat- shirts

draped on office chairs & bar stools

picked up the morning after

put on the next night.

burning eyes, flat hair covered by one

of many hats covered by several of even more pins

collected to assign a meaning to a barren skull

Exit strategy

existential crisis burying a second voice 
down an ashen sink drain with fermenting friends. 
And trapping that fox with the 16 stones I was given.

Not who they wanted but who they were near.

Turned to mockery and cynicism out of fear
Should be living alone, locked in that shoebox he burned long ago.

“Poetry? Oh yeah, you’re really into that?”

Yeah I guess so.