The road ahead sweeps with

The road ahead sweeps with

The flow of glacial ice

The ground smoothed

By an ancient hand

With little regard

For eroticism

The architecture of buildings

A tumble of old stone

Mountains full of broken dreams.

In a bar where the whisky tastes

Second hand

I spill beer into my mouth

It stains the pipes

The barmaid is too familiar

When she took me for a fool

Not for the first time.

There was no room to escape

Her clutches

Not without making a concession

So I left

Which seemed the right thing to do.

There was always another bar

Where being alone

Would feel more private.

The whisky on the table

In the kitchen a more reliable

Indicator of isolation.

Even as the last bus leaves

There is always a trail

Of sad souls to follow

And the stars look the same

Wherever I go.

Lying prone

On damp grass

Gazing up, into the vast dome

Is a shared experience

Between lovers.

Falling in a drunken heap,

A dead swoon

Sleeping outside in the open

Talking to the wind

Hoping for an answer

Is better not to be seen or heard

A death wish is friendless.

Discovery is an adventure

Waking up in a field

Is only a short step

From humiliation

Waking up alone on the kitchen floor

Is a familiar accompaniment

To self-sabotage

Its only compensation

Is in its availability.