Rain tower king eats pills to stay alive

what hope comes from silver powders

falling upstairs into overgrown ash

gardens to fail is to live 

walk miles to find each reaction smokes 

out another beginning.

 

The choice is chance of a life disturbed 

by wine and waiting riding the back roads

searching for lights behind the shutters

grateful ever so grateful eyes unfold to

a place to lie down dry enough to sleep

for a while, peaceful.

 

The tide line the shore the flood plain

swill the pints down glorious expansions

the pressure lifts into obscurity through

the foliage comes a reckoning zig zag markings

roughly hewn polythene sack and smell

of epoxy resin black tar on stilts risen with the sun

mercurial whispers of autumn winds coming over 

the marsh.