Jon Collins

Rush Hour In Brimscombe ­Scales playing, out of the window Carried on the wind Above the road noise, which pauses Temporarily on hold as if to say Go on, no, it's

when i sit by myself in a time and space a tiny place i can think of those things that i cannot face slow the pace and its alright.

Open Water The swell of a wave As it hits Your face Mouth closed, eyes cleansed Cold release as it subsides And you can blink again Distant score, stretching Parallax to tell the

It's A Minefield It's a minefield So many choices Paralysis of options Conflicting voices Vie for attention Impossible to say Which one above all Is legitimate Is kosher The

It’s Not Even It's not Even The moment Before You glance You focus You take into account All that could be Might be But before that A time to reflect