Atonement comes in sober spells
Few and far between
Loneliness an open wound throbbing
Shame a mourning mother sobbing
For sacred son and sacred stone
Atonement comes in sober spells
Few and far between
Like the tinkling of distant rain
And the smell of thunder crisping the air
I wake up in the early morning to grey skies and a grey room
I groan and twist
Writhe and listlessly i
Rise
I replace the caps on the open bottles
And like a somnambulist i tidy away the strewn clothes and books
Littered pages like leaves and stolen words like secrets
Between sighs and gags i scoop up the solid chunks
And dispose of them with a flick of the wrist and a flush of fluid
And what cannot be scooped i mop
Three times round i clean
Dry mop
Then with floor cleaning fluid
Then wet mop
And i let the rising sun finish my gruesome task
I heave and gag and pour myself a cup of coffee
Between sighs the sun slowly slinks his sombre way through a grey sky
Momentum comes in sober spells
Few and far between
