It was early on a Saturday morning
when I found the tiny slug.
It was stranded in the middle of a parking lot,
still wet with dew, but that would soon
become a trackless desert for small creatures.

With a small blade of grass, I coaxed
the slug onto my thumb. It sat there, shyly
peaking its feelers out, no bigger than my nail.
My heart melted. I walked it to the bushes,
and saying "goodbye, small friend", brought it home.

I think often about the measure of my life.
Do I draw Meaning from my weight on a scale
held by some all-powerful, cosmic being?
From how my life touches those around?
From the music I leave behind?

The answer to these questions is not the one I like.
But as long as there are tiny slugs in parking lots

I will live on

Between "mere a serendipity" and a "cosmic irony" we all exist.

Blue, such an enchanting and bewitching colour
Being able to lure even the hungry gulls to follow
And give people the strength to go on in this world

For an artist to engrave an image in our minds
To help young ones find their path through the vines
To inspire a victim to release her spirit from the pit, wherever it hides
Giving life full meaning and see something else besides the contour of the sides

Yet, that sacred hue seems to bring me only horror
Filling my core to the brim with despair and anger
So much I want to put that lone rope on the hanger
Be silence with a swift move of a finger
Applause!
For tonight is my last time as a sovereign singer in front of all of you

Now, despite my love and moral right
My heart was shattered, its pieces cruelly scattered
Azure and violet lingers on my surface that once a refined look held
So the monster could be discharged from the misery it felt
Obtuse to the fiends it sends to win over my pelt till tomorrow due

The striking blue in its eyes that was found dreamy
Was just a snare for someone as delusional as me
Tore the flesh and meat protecting my pride that was soon to be
Taking away all of my licit sociality

Weeping flimflammery behind a vague breath
I fumbled and curl up in the dark in my dread
Eyes moist and cheeks stamped with a watermark
The blue everyone sees as breathtaking losing spark
And as my muscles began to stark
I awaited the moment where it would stop with the snide remarks

"Why are you useless in time of need!?
Stupid *****, nothing will ever fulfil your greed!"

Is that how you were going to treat me?
With cusses and heavy thrusts?
Ponding on and on until I became nothing but bones and organs mushed
If I try to wail or scream for you to stop
Another punch in the gut knocks out my air and my body thumps like a wet mop

I look in the mirror and I want to rend my eyes
Be blind, erase the person standing before I
With bruises and marks littering
Proving irreversible indication of its iniquity

Depletion, hysteria, fury, strikes me harder than it
I find it hard to stand on my own two feet
Teeth chewing and munching on as I continue to bleed
Remising of how I was just a kid

An innocent image bearing no dreed
Wishing nothing from her parents but more feed
So that my bones aren't as stiffed
Maybe then I'll be more gifted
More desired and loved
Like the blue was to me a long time ago

I have a friend named Daniel
He is a bit negative but
That is because his family
Treat him like ****
Daniel was born in 1979
Over ten years after me
After his last life which was
Soccer player from Italy
The players name was renarto curi
You see when Daniel was a baby
His family turned the soccer off
Daniel cried really loudly
Till they turned it back on
Daniel has always been good at soccer
Despite him being mentally ill
He played soccer for a lot of clubs
As well as kicking the ball with mates
He says he can control soccer
And other sports as well
But that was renarto curi’s spirit
Getting into his body
You see in the 1950s renarto curi
Was just a little kid
About the same time as my past life
Graeme Thorne and when renarto died he wanted to meet that poor kid
Who was thrown to the sharks
But renarto curi has to
Put up with somebody who says
He is the messiah
But that is because of his ****** life
And ****** family that goes with it
I want renarto curi to make sure
That Daniel who is dying doesn’t have those powers in his next life
Yes Daniel needs to be positive
Not the negative **** he could be

The gallery actors


when US industry noticed
China was a cheap place to produce their stuff
they moved the whole production to China.
This was beneficial for both, except the American workers
who as usual no one listens to when a pair of Jeans
are affordable.
Now the USA and China are squabbling like relatives
having a falling out over the right of way.
But both countries are hopelessly entwined they can´t
thrive without one another,
So, what we see is a play for the gallery not to be taken
at face value.

brown skin farmer girl (this changeling poem)

~

we are I’ve decided

alike and unlike.

I know, an epiphany.

we are both brown skinned,

the sun has wrested my skin

buried it in dark loamy,

soiled brown side by side,

now alike.


your hair is long(er)

now, mine too.

a cascading mountain ranging,

edging south from your Columbia,

to my  Columbia

over my ears, down my neck,

which like yours, dreams knightly

of being loved by endless kisses,

a prince(ss) charmant

~

we could not be

more different,

than how god us designed.

but here’s the rub,

people change,

they dream of becoming,

reinventing the original design,

and this explains

not the why, but the how,

how this poet came to write

this changeling poem.

~

and you think we could not be more different and
more alike, and you would be rightly correct.

I could not be more secluded
the truth gets harder to swallow every day I am away
I can't help anyone, I don't want to
**** you, I hate that I care, I hate that I love you!
What splendid friends, I alienate, for my own little world
to keep getting smaller
I taste blood in my throat, mournful grief
and I must digest this on my own
once and for all, one for all, I force it down again
and again, exercising the emotional restraint
until in my dreams when he appears to me
comforting, accepting, the man he used to be
I remember the purgatory of consciousness
this torture of waking, I'm not fit to be a broken piece
in the puzzle of his life, merely a lobotomized spectator
to which I declared, good day! We are not friends!
I choose to remember you as my little brother
but we are not on familial or familiar terms,
as you wanted! You said you'd never be scared away
unless I pushed you to break,
it was the most selfish thing I have ever done
to make the silence stop
now I am removed, I have strode through hallmarks that seemed impossible before
I haven't even glanced at your art, which speaks volumes unto itself
and I push all the loving arms and watchful eyes aside
so I may grieve, in the perpetual chaotic motion of this world.