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The Sun upon the river is the colour of the colour of the Sun

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Saw the black stones stare
At scissor birds that flew
Cutting holes straight into space
Past silhouette trees
Where the shadow of something gone
Casts a spell upon the silence

Wednesday

Wednesday
Wednesday the twenty-something
And I've got a bad feeling
Running late
Out of the window
Over the gate
Bird song sings and the cat is hungry
Lingering with her question-mark tail
Wednesday
And something in the walls is cracked and dripping:
The poor creature in the cupboard cannot bare it:
His lungs are mottled and he can barely
Crawl across the floor at night
Wednesday’s stick like calories, they stay with you,
Like every bad thing you’ve ever done
Like every good idea you can’t remember
Every Wednesday takes a week off the end of your life.

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Sometimes it sticks
That it feels
Like I felt already
And if I just turn around
I‘d see myself
Writing this line
Writing this line

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I could never capture them
The soft ways you were beautiful
In pictures & letters you evaded me
Like a name written in smoke
Or a bug on the page of a book
It could not see to read