On The Way To The Cage

British monks
And Navan punks,
A little too young
And too self assured.
One going forward,
One going to Rome
As I throw stones
At a liberator's statue.
Come back beneath
My planted feet
Stuck quick
In the sinking, circling,
Turning red flame
That orbits this hell.

A Two Second Lifetime

Pull up anchor
Like the weight
At your ankles,
While your body
That your wife knows
Better than her own,
Is losing control
With every raised eyebrow
And child's bruised bone.

But it just goes to show
We are signals
We are signs.
We are more of the heart
We are less of the mind.