382. the kissing gate.

set the clock

for o-two hundred

wake, dress, drive for 30 minutes

on empty roads


the blink blink of the car alarm


in the blackness:

through the woods

around the reservoir

ten miles

nearly shit myself

with the things I saw

or thought I saw

and the things I heard

– thought I heard


and I’m a grown man

it’s not often I’m scared shitless

these days


the woods an ancient place with no streetlights,

the water lapping black with no moon, no torch


I only make out the sandy path

through the reservoir

if I look straight ahead

– look down & the path disappears

water either side


click clack through the kissing gate


– the car’s still here

blink blink

a cigarette

and home to bed,

jeez, I feel alive