At the exclusion of
any unwelcome edge


our most common ground rolls out
to an ugly, slippery curve.

Grey. Like an open ball-joint.
Exposed - amid broken, blood-drained
muscle. Cooked-in and torn out

of tendon-tight, tender folds.

An unintentionally burnished knife,
cuts unavoidably around a peer-pressure
blunted head. A bone bubbling, pitted, jagged,
overhanging blade - as a wall that
stops all new-minds rising.

Until a broken bone,
all sticks and stones. Thrown
pottery at the wheel of whirring
time, thumps change into
the ways of making.

Love learns,
to let go of the aching.
The pain enflames all fears of
taking chances with the broken
teeth of eating dreams of seeking
solace, in the listening of others.

Another, scream
to remain unseen - although
it is all that twists and turns,
works to earn our movements
motion - expression.


by Gareth Rosser