She told me she's more than she looks
But to figure her out you don't have to hit the books
She'll twist you and say all the right things
Be what you need but in the night what she brings
Is not lust for you not passion or need
It's only her insatiable heart breaking greed
To call her a ***** would be too *****
She's calculated and pretty far too evolved for flirty
She's a carnivorous creature of the night
Hear her words but I pray with experienced might
That this girl won't cross your path at any point in time
For this siren, this mistress was a manipulative love of mine.

The great, green Giant sleeps all through the day;
beer-bellied, toes outstretched, dipping into the sea.
He lazes beneath the springtime sun, while we sit idly
anticipating possibilities and to-bes.

This dead castle bursts with life,
seagulls, and sandwiches,
and cameras capturing the view
onto something they can hold;
something graspable.

                *

The Giant disappears at night;
merging with the mountains.
Fading into the dark, as the waning moon
creeps up behind and over and above;
dripping reflections to feel a connection
with the earth again.

Lovers wander now, wandering through the flirting streets
which tease with uncertainty, and curtain the
awe-striking depth of the darkness that dumbs their speech
as they 'turn at this corner and just along the promenade..'.

Pushed back by a blast of wind;
numbing hands cold.
Forcing them away from
prolonging a gaze on the Sea's cruel honesty;
knowing they would be driven mad
by endless questions of eternity.

Questions they attempted to drown out with music and dancing
and Tequila shots and the kissing and the music and the dancing...

But now in the air, by this high-tide, they are
Modern-age-small-town-philosophers.
'Have you ever seen the petrified forest?'
Will they tell stories of us too?
Life is so short and now is certain, well...
as certain as certain could be known for certain so..'

So, after meditating on the existence of existence,
they find refuge in the optimistic light of the stars.
Warmth for the spirit from the deep, dark, cold depth of the darkness;
'Because the night is so very young.
Look, there are still stars in the sky...'

Venus is inconsistent; an evening and a morning star.
And, oh, is that Orion's belt?


         Lying on the floor, in the morning, after a night of philosophy.

When you mistake bugs
crawling on a white, blank sheet
for ink blots, or dark stains,

It's just like when the stars
you see in the pitch black sky
move, and turn into planes.

You hide behind
knowledge like
a shield you

feel stronger
when you know
the answers,

when you know
the answers,
when you know.

After a long day of
getting lost in the rain;
turning wrong instead of right,
wrong instead of left;
somehow always seeing that same
cafe over and over and over again.

Cold hands grip the corners.
Pacing round this grey city,
glancing at street signs inconspicuously;
pretending not to be new.

The blues pull on the resolutions
till they’re broken by the spring
sunshine which finds
all the things January lost.

The dead tree never stands lonely.
At the top the silhouettes
of birds come and go,
nesting in the nooks.

Branches sticking out like
Indecisive fingers, pointing enigmatic directions.
It’s trunk is covered with thick, green ivy
asserting a kind of dignity, uniform.

Keeping it warm in the harsh winters
and concealing the weathered, bare bark in the summer
while everything else expands outwards;
in colour, full bloom.

The dead tree stands in the middle of it all.
For the moment, standing steady,
I would never describe this dead tree as lifeless.

Hearing all the birds
singing so loudly over
this peace and quiet

In rock pools, tiny claws dual over colourful crowns
that were sent across the seas from the Gods.
The deadliest of gems sought for in crustacean kingdoms
like power.


Fish hide in bottles and swallow plastic shrimp,
while flotsam and jetsam decorate the shore;
toxic borders.


Albatross, guardian bird of the waters
we stopped looking up to you,
we stopped looking behind us to see if you were following
when we could fly higher, fly faster...
Jet power, metal wings, turbo engine.


Our good omens
Became measured.
Our superstitions
Became statistics.


I cry for all the canaries trapped in coal mines.
While we look for life on Mars
I feel dead on this ship,
but it's still floating, floating...

I'm cold
But I still care
I'm distant
But I wish you were here
My head and my heart don't go hand in hand
Unless that hand is strangling the other in demand
I'm hurting too but don't pity me
I need this, I know it, you know it, someday we'll see
If I get better and you do too
Maybe there's peace in this life again for me and you