is this poetry or is this love
is this business really something
to discuss in the tub

is this drowning or is this drinking
or are these overwhelming feelings
products of too much thinking

is this sleeping or is this blinking
because i don't know how much further
life can keep shrinking

poetry is sleep, death and rest
and while these have not truly been addressed
I guess poetry is also life's digress

A chicken might live without a head
live many a year before it's dead
but have its heart ripped from its breast
and it'll be in seconds before it rests

but oh how its different with us
and isn't the poem the best forum to discuss
that without a head - death would appear
but without a heart. Well. I'm still right here

Maybe the greatest injury yet
was all too soon after we met
and with eyes and ink still wet
you tried to **** me with the alphabet

I'm not sure if death is an injury
but from the Rockies to the Yangtze
If you read any Bukowski
You may never rip that knife free

A final stanza on the busy bus
can make the world freeze
so don't forget to hold onto the handrail
or when it really stops,
you'll be brought crashing to your knees

there's those poems that destroy you
from inside to out
an h-bomb of hopelessness
and the post realisation fall-out

there's that poem that you read
that stops you in your tracks
dropping the book on your nose
as you're lying on your back