They say it's nothing
Just a cold
Bt why do I feel
Like the world
Is sitting on my chest.

I try to rest
Bt the night presses too close
And my back aches
Like it's holding a sorrow
It doesn't understand.

It's just cold
Bt it hurts
In ways I can't explain.

slowly the mountains come out of the blue of morning, they regain their face
light bathes them in its milk
I hide in the tall grass like a child
this self expands into the clouds behind the trees
an engulfing joy dissolves words into vowels
everything that exists  is wonder, a forgotten state of matter
time confesses a circle
the circle conjures  an earth so wild
the forest stores its prayers inside moss
the sacred hidden in the most profane  flower
an work of art with unknown author, every atom is colourful
I offer my skin as playground for butterflies
they can feel she's not so different from the skin of the earth
some hours are born by the self of rain
I wonder if the wind feels me
like I feel you in blooming nails

There's no freedom to this,
A hook on wet fish,
withering around skittering
and dumped in your bucket,
I looked so hard in the Abyss
Obstacles bounded by trees,
and roaring of that engine
in a little 250 mountain scooter,
A distraction from this something....

Cold ice blocks fall from the cavern,
like icy pikes that could not strike my eye.
But there's a reason for this obsession,
or your fantasy exists for nothing at all.

All the ****** dreams can't oil my limbs,
Any injections of opiates can't cure my phobias.
All the bottles of liquor won't make me better,
All the grass of this keep, just makes me needier.

Good-bye
to nightly
rest,
take a bite
of this pizza
that has
my toppings
and my centred
oozing cheese.
Wraps over,
all the vegies
and the bacon,
pineapple,
the biggest
part of me.
Juicy and sweet
collides
with the salty,
of the beaches
of such ladies
in bikinis.
Wrapped up
and the lust
tests our devotion
and respectability
How it pushes
against appetite
for devourment.

Colonel Lingus was a cunning linguist,
He would slither, and slobber and dribble,
With his tongue he would stroke, with a push and poke,
and a wiggle about in the middle,
Though the talk of the town, when he had his head down,
Not a word ever could be distinguished.

Colonel Lingus was a gourmet lover,
He would travel the world for its flavours,
But his favourite dish, sort of tasted like fish,
And he’d eat out with quite odd behaviours,
When he tasted sweet slimes, he would quiver with rhymes,
If you met him you’d never recover.

Colonel Lingus had a special interest,
He had mastered a delicate motion,
When he put it within’er, and then gestured ‘come hither’,
It was said he could summon the ocean,
So the ladies spoke highly, although often quite shyly,
But he played himself down like the simplest.