Convention
Of some things one should never speak. I wonder if they can be typed? What would happen I wonder, if
Category: Poetry for the non poetic
Voices
The dead walk among us My mother joined me on my walk this evening I wandered past a place we’d
Superman on a Scooter
I saw a four year old Superman on a scooter, all red cape and runny nose. His blue eyes radiated
Of inner tubes and river stones.
You don’t see towelling sun hats as often as you used to I think that’s sad The crate of beer has all but disappeared too
The Airport
I fly Always in motion I hide in the sky Thousands of lonely people amidst Tens of thousands of happy
February 22nd.
I don’t know how I feel about this 22nd thing really. So much media noise. So many people talking about
A Mathom House of Sorts 
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