For SLH . . .
I don’t need any more lost hours.
In my time I have lost too many, here and there . . .
further details, I would rather spare,
I will show you a few pictures of me,
loitering with un-intent in places I knew I should not really be.
There’s me wasting, watching another 60 minutes of trivial TV
when I should have been completing waiting job applications.
And there, again no money, but I’m playing the hop in the record shop.
And, that tormented body of misdirected emotion,
a crumpling comet plunging into a sea of not really wanted alcohol . . .
Late night lying promises to an obviously unsuitable Miss
knowing my lack of honesty would end-up with the inner me wearily asking,
“How the Hell do I get out of this?”
How can there be?
When all the fading chaos led
Me to the right She.
my life ticks along contentedly
the lost boy
and the lost hours,
well behind Me.