Bright shadows take turns
to stagger across this room,
crown to anchor in shades
of charcoal blue carbon.
Sometimes, the occupant drinks
fine wine like tequila-
heady shots, not tasting
all a visitor might give.
With disrespectful humour, words
are swallowed whole then spat
on to the rug. Round with remorse,
little chunks of a past inhabited
by boy, repeat to spill on other
people's shoes.










17 old applause
