After taking a second look, I have come to the conclusion that stargazing is overrated.

And after much consideration, reflection, and even rumination, I am left with the notion that whatever people think that makes them happy, isn't really what makes them happy.

If I found a door that opened to anywhere, I would step through it.

You're soaking and you're strung out
but your sleeping bag's been wrung out and
it's wrapped up in a damp rag that you carry in your rucksack

you turn your back on Strutton Ground and you strut off into London' town
like some mad demented peacock, but you're off to rock the Casbah with your crazy words or wisdom which you gleaned from empty matchboxes so very long ago.

The coffee opens early for the bird that scratches daily for a meagre bit of warmth to feed the soul.

and by St Pauls, the ***** of grasping pawnbrokers are gleaming in the frosty air
'pop the weasel ' goes in there quite frequently
you see the emptiness of picture frames in streets you recognise, no names,
because no one would remember them among the worn out suited gentlemen that you became but then it doesn't really matter anymore.

the evening strolls in awkwardly,
but maybe that's just how I see it and
it could be elegantly
I don't know.

and we're back to Strutton Ground not far from Scotland Yard
the new one, the old one's not too far from here and near Trafalgar Square, but you got moved along from there too many times, too many moons and wines ago.

Killing pies at the          of a ceiling,
                                drop

When you start I'll never stop screaming

"PLEASE DON'T SHAKE THE PRUNE TREE".

Have you ever seen a raven fly at night?

It's like straining your eyeballs through a screen door,

as baby moths play with your hair.

the shower is on
the water never ceases
and I have to ****

I am flatlining.

I can see my life projected out and witness all of my goals achieved. So many accomplishments. Everything I've ever wanted to do. And yet...

I feel empty.

As I feel now, sitting here with an empty head filled with light from the computer screen. It's so late that it's early.

We all arrive here, sometimes.


When was the last time your hand touched someone else's?