Harry Gallagher

The Lunatics Have etc

And if the battlelines are drawn,
what then? And who draws them?

But open arms and soft voices
are feather bedding for blades.

And goose stepping goons
know no reasons for stopping.

If you’re raised in a world
where kindness is weakness,
synapses, once snapped,
can never grow back.

When the tide blocks its ears
and refuses to turn,
maybe we should all just
blame the moon.

The Leaving

You were imperfect and distant and slow,
though we all are on occasion,
but distrust has consumed
what love there ever was.

And so I will run from your arms
out into the cold,
the stones I will still cast
now too distant to land.

For my landlord had stopped listening
and so I’m leaving you darling,
mouthing bitter nothings
from outside your rear window.

And I will be sorry indeed,
but I have found another –
I am blacking out the sunlight
with mirrors.