a call echoes
from the gut of creation
from the cold suns in the skies
to the smoking concrete stacks

on one of those no days
the end of a book phase
of being in a room on my own
that breeze beyond reason

To woods I knew, I took her there, took her there on her insistence. As we crossed the brambly threshold, I worried would she find the same creations as me.

It's 3am and I can't sleep. Again. Most nights it bothers me. Not tonight. I feel strangely comfortable, for reasons I can only guess at. I don't care too much though, as long as I'm winning – plenty of time to seek the truth when you're down and nearly out.

By the beach, I closed my eyes, and listened to the earth. At first I heard discord. I sought the itch and realised that discord echoed discord. I listened now with knowledge, and discord became melody.

my window stands ajar
to let the night float in
what sounds may burst
from the bubbling silence?

I glanced to the Wicklow hills
where the sun stained pink
the clouds bedecking the mountains
and though I knew this clockwork’s gist

ain’t no change in this shit life
just another dawn to kill
no in out job, bearing knives
your soul’s shaking, your blood’s still

you have your view
and I have mine
and never the two
shall intertwine

every Tuesday Rourky calls
to tell of all he has conquered
and all that has crumbled
during his last seven conquests

now I’ve more time to bask in your glory
now I’ve more time to hear your sad story
‘cos I’ve filled in some bits of my own
yeah, I’ve filled in some bits of my own

give it up your tit for tat
you know well you owe
and there’s never been a contract
to pay in gold or favour

what did I know when I was seventeen
when all the world was selling teenage dreams?
one rush would fade, another kept you keen
but I grew old when I was seventeen