Are we all just broken mirrors?
Merely a collection of reflections,
A thousand shards like shields
under which we hide, and therefore deny,
These scars we cannot heal?

What do these surfaces show us?
A covering of caricatures as
a substitute for skin?
A means to deflect, so none may detect
The person lost within?

How do we perceive each other;
As people? Or as purely pixels now –
A series of small screens,
An infinity of identities
in which our souls cannot be seen?

Are we all just broken mirrors?
Too distorted to support the burden
of the shared shame we feel?
What if we take the time to realign
Our falsified ideals?

Let’s lick the light from the sky,
Taste time together
You and I;
Gargle on green rolling free-flowing fields,
Then lap up a leaf left by Yggdrasil.

Let’s milk midnight from our eyes,
Weave the world a red
lullaby;
Turn somersaults in Summer’s vault of sunburnt malt
and mumbled salt that tumbled through
thunder’s thoughts of ***, raw whiskey and rye.

Let’s make the moon craters cry,
Give up our graces
You and I;
Sweep the stars into bell-bottom jars
as we tweak the meek **** of Mars and creep
through the spaces of cotton lace bars
faster than a racing eight-faced die.

Let’s lick the light from the sky,
Taste time together
You and I;
Share our souls with this suspicious old world
So it knows the reason why
we are
You and I.

Drinking to forget;
Mnemonic gin and tonic
hasn't helped me yet

Sunshine tars the cars
Sloshes through trees sticky leaves
Congeals on concrete

My
Mind’s
Factory;

Mental
Conveyor
Belt

Quality
Control
Issues
­
Patents
Still
Pending

Next
Idea
Please...

Crocodile cracks
pave the way for
frightened, bewildered bears who
ought to beware
and take care
not to get caught
or killed
by a rabid
assortment of
slathering ravenous
kids.

My scarred and scratched skeleton,
With bite marks on my bones
Where inspiration took hold
As it shook me to my soul, and
Turned my marrow midnight blue.

Beneath a summer moon
In a sky of faded blue,
A murmuration of starlings
Swell and swirl,
And sigh and swoop.

A thousand flitting shapes
That sweep across the seamless space
In swathes like nimble little needles,
Trying to weave
A tapestry
With threads of spun splendor and grace.

Gentle steps that pad up the stairs;
Thoughtfully soft and
hushed by the hands
of midnight,
So none might
hear him advance.
But he moves with such care
That no one
but you
Would know that he’s there.

He’s on the landing now,
Creeping closer to your door
But the cautious clock
is ticking him off, so he stops
before your doorway and drops
his big bag of darkness
(that’s squirming and restless
to swallow you whole);
Then he inhales the soul
of the tick and the tock.

Now there’s nothing left
But your heart and his breath
so you know this time it is true:
That the bogeyman is in
your room
your dreams
your head
your bed
For tonight, he’s coming
for you.

Lying between white sheets,
Hiding inside
the covers of our love…
Our pale forms press close, as
with a flurry of skin,
We begin tossing
and turning,
‘Til we reach the end;
Where together
we shall discover
the ****** of our love.