That narcotic quality. Ten and two at ten to two. The slow thunk Brake lights for the Welcome Break: Other cars become landmarks. A Volvo <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Tonight, it\u2019s steak. You wouldn\u2019t cook <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Damp in the spare bedroom, the estate agent\u2019s \u2018nursery\u2019, The shower leaks from the shower head, drips on off. transport links, the right diversity of cuisine, the tone is not our children\u2019s future, we\u2019re careful with our clich\u00e9s. so many times. New vocabularies form new concerns. need to. We move on. Give birthday cards a week Night Drive That narcotic quality. The paradox of headlights on the hedgerow. Bach\u2019s violins; then the Carpenters, again. We\u2019ve only just begun… Ten and two at ten to two. The slow thunk Of catseyes as you overtake. Going nowhere you know where you\u2019re going. Monotony is the warm fizz in your back. Brake lights for […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":156,"featured_media":6514,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[333,334],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nThe paradox of headlights on the hedgerow.
\nBach\u2019s violins; then the Carpenters, again.
\nWe\u2019ve only just begun…<\/em><\/p>\n
\nOf catseyes as you overtake.
\nGoing nowhere you know where you\u2019re going.
\nMonotony is the warm fizz in your back. <\/p>\n
\nA red smudge. Someone must be turning in.
\nYou wouldn\u2019t call it a premonition
\nBut you see it coming. <\/p>\n
\nProvokes you. You pull into the absence
\nOf a hard shoulder.
\nThis is how things happen. <\/p>\nSustenance<\/h4>\n
\nUsually, not alone. I understand.
\nWe read each other like a book
\nWe\u2019ve read before, thrillers scanned
\nFor their endings. Flavour is in the fat,
\nI suggest, as you trim the meat clean.
\nConversation has become an act
\nOf admission. We say what we mean.<\/p>\nToo Much<\/h4>\n
\nis spreading; cold, almost wet, to the touch. How long
\nis anyone\u2019s guess. Our guess is three weeks. It\u2019s fussed up
\nthe paint, the wall speaks through cracked lips, whispers
\nfrom the playground to that found realm of shivers.<\/p>\n
\nTime is spent calculating the cost. Something is always
\nworth it; worth fixing or throwing away, worth not
\nthinking about now. Time is the motive behind motivation.
\nYou can lose it temporarily. So much is our choosing:<\/p>\n
\nof the walls. I say our, yours or mine. Compromise
\nis gravity. The obsolete fireplace has been retained
\nfor the mantelpiece; it displays itself and the painting
\nabove, a still life at the point of abstraction. The future<\/p>\n
\nConsequence waits in things, the precursor to events,
\nfelt in a bike\u2019s wobble, a leaflet through the door. Boredom,
\na symptom of childhood, like flu, can be experienced
\nbut not remembered. We can only not answer the phone<\/p>\n
\nConversation is an equality action plan, a concession
\nto the vogue of thrift, spectrum-conscious, sustainable.
\nFailure is meaning. Our not-wanting-kids is emotional
\nmiscarriage, a shibboleth. I could say your, but I don\u2019t <\/p>\n
\nobscuring the classics, before James Merrill\u2019s grin
\nreturns our gaze. We celebrate an almost organic meal
\nwith grace. Atheistically solemn, I read that sonnet again.
\nSamuel Daniel: I say no more, I feare I said too much. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"