13th Star

He struggles to the breakfast table, still hung-over, hardly able to come to terms with Monday's new demands, To activate the microwave, to reheat Friday's take away, the cafetiere to muster up some coffee from the grains, He lights the next last cig

A naked man, across the lawn, ghosts of morning walk a carpet of tears, Croquet balls, scattered moons, drowning sorrows on a sea of green. The fairy falls with broken wings; I hold it close to me and then let it fly, Another dream, another you, shat