Augustus Young       light verse, poetry and prose
a webzine of new and unpublished work


My sentiments are at point mort.
Not so much dead to life, but life is dead to me.
is other people.
Not in the same boat
One is drifting and taking in water. The other is going full steam ahead.
I was bad news. You were no-news.

It's always too late
For regrets.

Omnia mea mecum porto
I carry around things you might need in my sack. An ebony board, a nail scissors, hand cream, lip salve, some pain killers. I still need them.
Eternal Life
Cancer cells never die. The immortality of the body is assured.
You drank tap water
I never would. Now I do.
When you died
Dr J’Espoir left town.
Something stopping after four decades
is more than a skid
More light
Three days after your death, Denis Clares, the electrician, arrived at the house, mounted to your living quarters and changed all the lights to make them brighter.
I’ve had my third haircut since you disappeared.
I have not had a flower in the house for a year. 
There is only one letter between dẻcẻder (to die) and dẻcider (to decide) And it’s a curtailed ‘i’. 
It’s a bit of a fog at the moment, but when it clears I’m not sure I’m going to like what I see.
‘Le meilleur moment des amours n’est pas quand on a dit je t’aime’
‘We have art that we may not perish from the truth’