The glass is half empty again.

Strange that I should feel so ‘down’ after being part of such good things recently- but it is part of a familiar pattern, and this too will pass.

Because I set myself to some kind of honesty here (or at least a nod in its direction) I will practice the old vulnerability of poetry.

Forgive the mawkish self pity- and worry not- all the best people are broken. And I am more broken than most.

Oh- and forgive the bad language. Not something I would normally resort to, but in this instance, it seemed apposite.

Blackpool rock

.

There are words that run through me

Like a stick of Blackpool rock

Revealed again at each teeth jarring splinter

Slickened in scornful accusation

They say;

.

Failure

Fool

Fat

All f****d up

.

Better not to let you bite

At this broken edged circle

Lest you read me clearly

.

And God is gone

Even if the space he left behind

Still resonates