Sunday 11 August 2013

I sit in my wooden box
and feel the edges damp and rough
the rain that falls upon the roof
is leaking down my back.
Everyone inside their rooms
but no one wants to play
the words with which we made up things
aren't working any more.

An open space where no one lives
we are strangers in this land
In the wet season on a light blue sky
and then no more.
I heard the old wobbly man say
one by one we drop hey hey
and all that’s good will drift away
like the waters down…down…down.