those of those

all and far too often

i see the faces of all of those i love

in those of those i don't.

and i can't run away

or hide behind what's left behind

those bitter eyes that memorised

the memories that stretch beyond

whatever we've become

way back into our past.

the last time that i see you

is something i don't need to think about

or fathom just quite yet.

"would that you could touch this angel

in a clutch of snakes" sings blake

to make me smile so sadly once again.

and i guess it's time to leave
because that clutch just doesn't seem
to matter much
or count for more than
wishful thinking anymore.
so close the fridge at 3am,
a tin of curried herring in your hand
and wait for dreams to fuck you up once more.