Rangers of loneliness

his mind is liquid

as an ocean wide

teardrops crushed

against his lonesome shores

-

these streets are cold,

our minds are woolly, grey –

he’s shouting

at the dead end of his black brick road;

where are my rangers of loneliness,

my company, my dignity, my … friends?

-

we can dare, yes

I might say we have to

stretch out a caring hand

and dry those liquid minds –

(The weekend in black and white)