First Ones

WTF
The lonely edge of town, a hinterland existence in the foggy marshland.
An unloved tapestry, the gold cloth threads unravelling.
Time was, all was fields. Now all deserted houses.
Wild life was different then.
Pan in the dawn, Bacchus in the evening light, Helios all the day long.
Long-dead but they remain in us.
Probing and pressing against the crowd of humanity.
Men in mystery, women in collusion, men in kinship, women of superior nose.
Mistakenly labelled, reflecting under-ground coffee atttudes.
Lingering too long on the threshold of missed opportunity.
Glad backs and easy leavings. Hard comings and deserted goings.


Anxiety Dream.
A wake amidst drifting currents, yards from indistinct shore.
Over welly-top in the shifting sands and estuarial mud.
Menacing thick-brown knee-deepness of water.
Danger of immersion in the boot-sucking ooze.
Hands fanned to protect us. Touching down in primordial slime and half-horrific creatures.
Inevitable face in the foul-smelling coldness.
Rouses us too early into another murk. Our own.