Living in the country.
On a simple country road.
Is truly the place to be.
Don't matter the size of the town.
People just let you be.

The air is less polluted.
Like in most big city.
Not that I'm putting them down.

But, while we're country.
We just act a little silly.
While city's folks acts like clowns.

We might not have a lot of crime.
We do have the best scenery.
But sometimes the country folks gets wild.

You might say.
That we are about the same.
Have you ever notice?
The way certain kinships would love to trade places.

And
We think we're better than one another.
I guess we are simple kissin' cousins.

When the fire burns out
there will be nothing but
a foggy forgiveness.

From me
to you.

Till then,
watch your back.

There is nothing
written worth reading...
No films worth watching...
No music worth listening to...

There are no men or women worth dating,
*******, marrying,
or buying a drink for...

Not a single story
dreamt or witnessed
worth acting out
in dreams or actuality...

If you pray,
remember,
no god is worth praying to,
dying for, killing for,
or living for...

As long as you have breath
in your lungs,
know,
deep down,
that nothing you have seen,
smelled, tasted, heard,
touched, or thought
is really all that great...

...until you realize that
everything you read,
watch,
listen to,
live,
dream,
or think
is limited to human nature.

We're all pretty stupid
when you think about it.
And that is precisely
what makes living so
*******
exciting.

the petrol gauge of time moves you
shoots its juice into your veins
that throb and burst with unseen intensity
energised into the forum of your day

sail, reaching our for the horizon of a
dreamt image, afloat and biting
to taste its spicy spine tingling emotion

grappling to chase out the dead sea of seasons past
hedging you round the golden hem
clear in its calling

i asked you, today of all days
how you’d handle it, you know, the pull of the current
biceps straining to reach your horizon
the backward glance of the silken hem

how would it take you, affect your gaze on reality
a raw comparison perhaps
but a genuine smile  …..

casting you away

My Mistress' Eyes Are Everything Beneath The Moon;
The crimsom of her lip is as the shade of blood;
If coal is black, why then her thighs are cream;
If skin be burlap, white silk is her body.
You have never seen masked daisys, black and blue
But she creates blooming poppies on my cheeks,
And no perfume upon the earth compares to her scent
The exhalation of my mistress is as jasmine and honeysuckle.
I hate when she is silent, yet well she thinks,
All other sound is dissonant compared to her voice.
A godess I first saw, as she passed me;
My mistress levitates and glides across the air.
    All the horrors of hell, are fine, if her memory remains in my mind.
Her magnificence is selfevident, with words beyond compare.