UNTITLED NIGHT POEM

Language is the handle
On the door
But to what room?
And who paints the walls?

I ran into the street
Shouting
'Who has seen my house?!'

But they were all in
                        their own rooms
And it seems
That their doors
                 all have keys

Secrets dark
In biro-black chambers
Of private horror.

One man in his
Derelict arena
Shouting 'This was my stage!'

________________________

Oldbury, April 2012