Never been there.
Can't talk about it much.
I've seen shadows on the wall.
Crying faces in my dorm hall.
I've seen reflections of friends
in the communal toilet while they Puke-TSD.
Can't talk about it much.
It's not a subject I like to touch.
Never been there.
Never talking like I've seen it all.
They have. Ask them what it's like to fall
down and check your face for scrapes
and have other people put band-aids
on your ***. ("Oops, my mistake!")
Or better yet, don't.
Don't ask me.
Don't ask them.
They can talk.
I've never been.

If they ask, you can answer with the voice of a friend.
But don't ask. Don't reopen the PTSDen
of pain and the past. Just listen if they ask.
Have some ******* courtesy till then.

I went out to smoke.
I heard one lonely cricket.

In the Winter
Even he will perish.
And I will be alone.

The Amazon is calling.
A Winter trip
shaping up.

The Amazon
I've visited-
In Peru and
In Brazil,
There are
1000 voices
All the time

With no seasons
And no Winter

The night engulfs me entirely
      It welcomes me with open arms
                I feel so alive in my slumber

Accidentally put the old flannel
On backwards and walking around with the dog
Until I noticed im starting to revert back to the grand babe years ago or gramps has
Gone feeble
And the mouse in my head is dead on it's wheel.

[to the thousands of men, women and children fleeing their war-torn countries.]*

Adrift,
this huddle of fear
in the starless night.

Adrift,
this frieze-like
of carved anguish
surging in heavy
striped hearts.

Flimsy shores
draw an old world,
of other lords,
greedy of their pastures.

Plundered, ravaged,
preyed upon,
adrift
- who will see
our human face?