Once there was a boy all dreamy-eyed questioning  where in life he'd go
Now, he is a young man and still he doesn't know

ten days worked alone the texts go undressed
often too much
my lifeline drags a trail in the sand to the edge
of giving
the ambience breaks down many Fridays
waiting listening for
Yes on the radio so,
I sit among the Roundabout, Close to the Edge,
awaiting the Delirium, to catch me
by the gate  
the one the song sang about
me the lone lover of prog left.

If women are really from Venus
And men are really from Mars
Both are from the stars

Both complete the human race
Both portray an equal part
That creates a beating, human heart

May be the stars were out of my reach,
exactly how you used to preach
But their light guided my dreams

There was a trust deficit
between the rose petals, under
the wheels and the moving feet.

It does not resolve the ancient
conflict of man with
the machine via perfume.

The smell of the pungent smoke,
sits in the empty chairs,
when you were left alone on the burning deck.

Where the sky meets
the ocean, my ship had sunk
amidst the blood and the blaze.

In absentia, I am baffled
by the time's minute, when the search
of the self goes unending.

Even your bruises look like galaxies,
no matter how broken you see yourself to be, you'll always be fascinating to me.