David Boyle

The edges of things


It’s hard to brush into corners.

The detritus of time

just stays there, musing

about what might have been.

The boundaries of floors,

where the vertical

meets the horizontal

hug their fag-butts to themselves.


We head for the corners

like homing lemmings –

to the seedy, the forgotten,

the edges of things.

Hoping for what? A glimpse

of other worlds perhaps,

truer, passionate worlds.

Underworlds of real life.


We crawl like babies

to the desert, the cliff edge,

where the seas pour away

into space-time, musing

about what might be.

The edges of things where

We hang around, and hope

To meet infinity face to face.


June 2005

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title: books by David Boyle
Broke Voyages of Discovery Money Matters Blondel's Song Leaves World to Darkness The Little Money Book Funny Money The Tyranny of Numbers