Passing Days ~ Bob Kesh

live while your knuckles still write
and don’t whine about the gut shots
or being a lone tree until
you’re timbered and
lined in some fenceyard
where the young play,
because we,
we stood by and saw it all,
we stood by as the day
bellowed its age
and the sun looked on like
a cripple
and rolled its guilt into
a thin cigarette
and smoked
over naked lovers and red wars
and finally left with his tail-lights
smiling on the horizon,
and nights
full as ashtrays
of sniggering lights
and striding powders,
far too many nights,
lamenting like stuck bulls,
they all wave like retreating flags
on your way home.
so don’t cry yet,
you are not the night
or the day
helplessly watching on.


A writer and musician from London currently studying at the Faber Academy. Generally nocturnal, he can be found indulging in all the pleasures and pains of the night.

Contact him at bobkesh @ hotmail . co .uk (with no spaces)

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