Sometimes I catch myself thinking

Sometimes I catch myself thinking

Of other people and different faces

The familiarity of other places

Would that I could hold on to these thoughts

But they slip away so easily

As many have a mind so to do.

It is tricky to bypass in conversation

Convention dictates an occasional reference

To my flat as home, when it would be awkward

To draw attention to any unease with its acceptance

There is no land here to surrender

No blood spilt between the flagstones

Not for me

I spilt all of mine in other wars

Before the heft of life’s insurrection

Laid waste to the best of times.

Perhaps we should all loosen our grip

On the fabric of our existence

Be less stuck in the protection of old ways

When colonials were all for going home

Wherever that may have been

Holding on to tales of an imaginary England

As if we were all pioneers

Circling our wagons

Cooking wildfowl on open fires

Swapping stories beneath unknown stars

Searching for a homeland that was lost

Before it was ever really found.

Come, gather around the flag boys

Lay down your lives for some other lost cause.

There is always a gang boss

Waiting to oppress a free man and woman

Before they grow beyond emancipation

It is the meaning behind a life of service

To something greater than ourselves.

Take another look at streetlife

There will be a comfort in the ordinary

Some predictability is essential

To stave off the madness.

It helps to define ourselves in terms

Of each other

When we all think we know what might happen next

Even though in truth we rarely do

The illusion we create about our lives

Is the reason we continue to exist

Even in far-flung corners

Where the heart struggles to keep time

With the upside-down inside out notions

Of a Circadian rhythm