I ask the price before buying.

There's a price tag for everything
upon the breakeven a levied charge
for life has not one bit
bought sans the urge to profit
taken home void of bargain
friend, lover, companion
at a price not to be alone
without a fallout of gain or pain
of sweet or bitter taste
lifelong joy or sooner regret.

Do I have a price?

As for my own
I feel always underpaid..

the woman I took to the bed
the child I raised
friends and companions
seem all miserly in paying the dues..

maybe they rue too
I haven't paid theirs.

I fall down my throat
Into the last standing pillars
Of my body, that was a city
Atlantis and I, both sinking
I take all benevolent queen in me
Whisper wakefulness to my sleeping parts
Listen for the whirrs and chimes
Of my whole heart coming alive again
I can hear the lioness of my lungs chatting with the magpies
All the birds singing in harmony
The tree that grew from the apple seeds I swallowed
Refuses to drop its leaves, even as winter
Tries to choke this body
I am walking through gardens
All the beasts that used to gnaw at my bones while I slept
Nudge at my hands and lead me through this Eden
Like Atlantis, I find myself lost
Like Atlantis, I find no desire to return to the surface
All the birds singing in harmony
And happiness, in every step
Happiness

Remind me why we sin
with the pressure of your lips
tongue tie me
to your sheets
and whisper long syllables
of slow honey
and sting me with your gaze
meeting mine where
fear and pleasure mix
and strip me of my human name
and sacrifice it to the love
of pleasure you keep within your ribs
and show me the stars
you keep below your skin
and tell me of the scars
you wear proudly on your heart
tell me no lies
and I’ll give you my truth
and with a silent word
and a burning kiss
let me remind you
why we sin

Lost games
Longer lost rules
Night-time crimes
Lungs full
Of pungent smoke
Bellies full of *****
And heads full of
Something
And nothing

A kind of homage
To a kind of music
Riding across vinyl
And even crackling shellac
And the dead man's foot
Still taps inside the coffin
Refusing to relinquish
The hard-wired hammer
The outlaw life
Is hard in the dying

                                    By Phil Roberts

The glass was cracked,
And little by little everyday,
It cracked even more,
But never turned to pieces,
For it knew,
That thunderstorm would destroy it,
And kept holding,
In the wait of the breeze,
To cherish it's flaws.