Something That Moves

Apollo hasn’t died, he’s just moved house.

What was once acceptable is now awful –

the seagulls of youth pick at the vomit 

on the pavement of who you have become 

Impossible to give everything to an empty

endeavour

This isn’t art, this is entertainment.

Stealers Wheel follow me from place to place,

like the song of someone more successful. 

Who I only met once

Apollo tuts as I order another pint

“You’re only dreaming of me,”

he says.

Hemmingway sits at the bar and shouts

And Monday is a different story 

The cats scream outside as mine sleep

There’s no way back from this now

the monotony is here

And it lays on top of me

And makes my bathwater cold.

And the road is long and the

things that people say

to convey a lost soul

don’t mean anything

But just away – to find a purpose,

Something that moves.