The days

of yearning are long and strained.

Each hour

is intimately dissected and laid

out in disassembly;

the afternoons stand still

 

and you keep counting

them.

Existence is a formality

life runs on tracks

going in a big circle.

The airport hides the reception

patiently waiting

through the years

what welcome

what dismay

 

and yet

you sit in the aeroplane.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dewsbury

Oct '85