voice in another room:  he’s not written much lately

voice in yet another room: ‘s got writers block

some other voice: he hasn’t done nothing at all for ages

female voice: just sings a bit thats all

i walk the down the long way home

theyre coming back from the beach all sunburned

a sultriness in the sky

voice in another room: he’s lost his way

voice we havent heard before: he’s lost his fuckin’ mojo

an official voice: gone off the rails..!

a sad voice: he makes me sad

i can see the sea at the end of the street

its flat and silver under the grey sky

the flats for lease

and the chucked out bits of furniture

the skeletons of long gone bikes

a bloke pushing a pram and smoking a cig

the temperature is humidly perfect

the guitar shop with its pink fender bass i will never own

the bottle shop with the air conditioner unit that sounds like womens choir

my english skin is tanned and freckled

my beard is white my nose is pink my shirt is black

my eyes are blue my chest is brown

my dreams are inexplicable

my memories are fading

my choices are made for me by some dice or fate

my jaw aches

my leg aches

my teeth ache

my ears ring

my heart misses beats

my blurry fucked up eyesight 

my world is receding 

my beautiful dutiful daughters within their own lives

my friends shaking their heads reading this

my incredible run of luck

my stupid immaturity

my naive surprise when i get burned

my finger hurts still from when it was shut in the gate

my breathing is very shallow and my pulse beats slow

my rages and my sulks but also my generosity and my hopefulness 

voice in another room: if thats all hes got he neednt have bothered

a mocking voice: that aint poetry..!

a dry voice: dont you see, its a new simplistic authenticity

voice in another room: authenticity..? youre joshing me…

reader who lives up the junction: at least its free..eh..?

a mocking voice: and so it fuckin’ should be

a sad voice: i’m still sad