|I’m counting backwards
Along those empty seats. A nomad
Retracing my past lives labyrinth
My beloved lost matter
Squatting in the mansions of my mind.
It seems after a hundred miles of weeks
You can be filled with emptiness.
You can overdose upon
Your monopoly on grief.
Stripped to my ribs, sedated
Standing bare before my estranged siblings, Blurred by proximity and with a ruthless Lonesome dignity proclaim I need you all,
Come back to me,
|Rob Buchanan was one of the winners of 2015 Poetry Ireland Introductions series. He has been published in a number of poetry journals and magazines.His work has been anthologised and translated in to Irish and Greek. His first collection The Cost of Living was published in 2018. He performs his work at poetry nights across the country.|