The way the chilled glass sits and liquid pours-
Soulful singing soothes the mind-
No wonder they go back to the liquor-
If I follow the tracks they lay- would I too
Find shelter in bubbles, therapy in fermented steam-
I might need a vice but no-

Such a classy act to chug from tap upside down-
Illegal now but legal Now-
To trick the brain into a floating void-
Oh how wonderful but-
For some reason I fear putting drink to lips
The burning down my throat.
So- in soulful bar, the glass sits on its rim
Await till I fall thin.
Till the day I crumble it sits.

As you sit snug in your casket case
I wonder-
Do you ever feel the glare of polished eyes
Watching you, thinking praying for your wake?
Can’t blame them for the racket, you see-
As you lie peacefully
We feel the pulsing- or maybe a lack there of.

If a pin dropped I wouldn’t notice-
For I can only hear the loud stare of polished eyes starting to compact within shaking heads-
Yet they forget their owner ship over
living beating- ****** hearts.
While yours lay still in a box with only a shell.

These reflecting pearls, the bane of my existence-
Oh so blind to the left and right of squiggly lines like
The pounding of a fly on eardrums- my mind they scour
Flies beating round the hole in my head,
equivalent to the way they fall fate to windows-
Window sills their life long bed-
My windows to the world seem to fall short- failing
Even now in writing this down-
The buzzing bees build their home above my mind and below my throat.

In the well you sat for days-
I only found you, while skipping-
Tripping over moss covered rocks
by the stream that seldom ran dry.

Sadly for you- unlucky you.
The stream sat bare- from the sky.
I’d imagine, dry skin. Twisting turning
Meanders, of dry land.

The water table low, with no flow
You sat stuck for days- Alone.
Lucky for you- weirdly for me-
I heard yells- south of the dry stream.

carefully cranking, bucket and rope-
Down the well- closer to you.
Three yanks, and I pulled up-
A bucket, and heart appeared from the rough.

I realize. I can only write quality when sad or angry. Frustrating, forever thus breaking the flow and only I know when the time will be to open up again and free all the thinking, shrinking, sinking and slipping thoughts up here behind closed eyes-
slowly eating away behind caged ribs .

Everyday new problems made, new orange cones and red lights parade the streets of needle and thread. The sun goes down at night and I dream of solving the problem-
the bargain continues to darken at every strike across the face that is the problem that I have made-
and make them I do everyday.
For myself to hide, runaway. Climbing up a mountain of faith only to carry the feeling and throw the thought off the edge,
like waste.

Engage, listen, explain. I do, I try, I will and I might even add something new if I feel like it. Just to climb to point 5 once again soon point 6, 7, 8 and I don’t think I've ever looked back. In time it fades to black.

Eating away.

If you took from the chalice of immunity-
To be. Forever-
I’d drink-
Immortal with you.

If you died-
Perished untimely
I would lay down one’s life with you-
My life- With you.

It's a crying shame
The pursuit of our own wealth lights a flame
That makes greed a game that lets the whole world
burn
As the world turns, the whole world burns
Money was invented for trade
But now those bits of paper twist hearts, make
slaves
Turns a saint to a sinner
A child to a killer
His finger on the trigger of a money game