Silver trails from the snail mail you sent, I
Store in a box. In my mahogany chest, right
Next to my heart and bones.
It still smells of the life time we wasted.
The coffee shops are empty,
I have grown sleepy, no caffeine tears.
In the bookstore that cold day last month,
I saw you. A smile of sadness was exchanged,
I hope that was enough.

To wish for a wish,
To break bread with you.
Maybe one day I can be,
What flies in your dreams.
At night I think and wonder
Why can't I be. What I am.
I'm always down trodden.

You always know
Where you're going,
What you are doing,
why you are moving
Around like you do.

So hopeful, so bleak.
I hope there is space for me
In that confidence.
I pray for nothing,
Just...please.

She is a lifted finger
A tapped drum, nothing
Some type of paper weight
Fraying at the edges, she's
our comforter our, big red scarf.
I hope she'll be ok till we finally
Realise our mistakes.

The thought of withering away...

The ghost of you won't follow me,
Though I try to lure you out.
Never do you fall for my tricks,
I never did doubt
Your capabilities and your wit
I know you float, magical broom
stick your finger in the air.
You'd hitchhike the galaxy
I know you'd dare.

You must pray for the fickle and weak.
As we all need to make it through the heat.
Your whiskey neat burns down the branches of your chest as you speak.
Expand into a balloon, the crowd won’t bow but shake their heads.
They can not believe this tale you live, the life in a comfy castle cove.
The girls back home cry, denying all this fallacy.
Really it can not be like this, this isn’t reality.
This can not be like you or me.
We aren’t merely copies, are we?
They cry tears in the shape of rapids that carve rivers down your cheeks.
To take her to the moon will settle, remedy this pain.
So give me a few years and I’ll get you there.
For now pray for the fickle and weak as they aren’t lost, but free.

You must pray for the fickle and weak.
As we all need to make it through the heat.
Your whiskey neat burns down the branches of your chest as you speak.
Expand into a balloon, the crowd won’t bow but shake their heads.
They can not believe this tale you live, the life in a comfy castle cove.
The girls back home cry, denying all this fallacy.
A fairytale facade or so it seems.
Really it can not be like this, this isn’t reality.
This can not be like you or me.
We aren’t merely copies, are we?
They cry tears in the shape of rapids that carve rivers down your cheeks.
To take her to the moon will settle, remedy this pain.
So give me a few years and I’ll get you there.
For now pray for the fickle and weak as they aren’t lost, but free.

As she sits upon a throne she sees all that is.
Nothing else is here, nothing else exists.
Life is only what meets the eye, past it an abyss.

The crown on her head, too heavy to hold.
Her neck slowly grows bent, as she gets old.
Eyes now sad, like a cow marching to the block.

Little does she know, she's only a child.
Nothing more than a dreamer at home.
Sleeping peacefully, surrounded by pink walls.

You must pray for the fickle and weak.
As we all need to make it through the heat.
Your whiskey neat burns down the branches of your chest as you speak.
Expand into a balloon, the crowd won’t bow but shake their heads.
They can not believe this tale you live, the life in a comfy castle cove.
The girls back home cry, denying all this fallacy.
Really it can not be like this, this isn’t reality.
This can not be like you or me.
We aren’t merely copies, are we?
They cry tears in the shape of rapids that carve rivers down your cheeks.
To take her to the moon will settle, remedy this pain.
So give me a few years and I’ll get you there.
For now pray for the fickle and weak as they aren’t lost, but free.

Like bells they hear this ringing
Not of Christmas but of orange goodness.
This Irish voice walks past on balled up green,
her hair red as the warmth in early March spring.
The voice speaks of prickled roses that lie at my feet,
she reminisces on the tacky green and welcomes
the seaweed green.

It's baffling the up and down in her voice
Like a paper crown it could tumble,
My eyes dare look left.
She's skipping now, down to the town hall
to walk off the corners edge.

In Amsterdam a few years ago I stood below 12 sunflowers.
Standing still I stared at the bright strokes, bold
With something but I.
Could not understand I.
Did not see a plan, and I.
Felt small, my heart in my hand alone below bright beaming sunflowers
Some sort of morse code.

Through the frame I look at sunflowers still stale.
For a moment I was nauseous and the world spun round
Like a horror story the painting asks for a gift.
I could not provide, salty eyes and lips
I could not give, a heavy handed thought.
So I turned on my heel
and left.

As I reach for the bits that still linger
I pray that I can piece together the puzzle
that splintered in the cold winter last year.

Now the chills sweep and my bones begin to shudder
I yearn for a fire, to wake this buzzing brain
to pull apart the pieces, and form a working heart.

She met me by the river and turned her cheek to the sun
taunting it. Her willingness could cause a mark in red,
like a statue she sits so still.

My feet dangle in the river, which she dare not touch and I know
why she must stay so fussed with the pray that is all in her head,
to think she may die.

Or end up dead down some dark dingy creek
gives me no better reason to meet her here where she knows, her
friends. To say goodbye is to become a foe with the daring woman.

So I just hope that she'll turn her head and pull the mask to her chin.
To look me in the eye and scream in my face,
that I might die tomorrow.

Even though I know she could strike me down this minuet,
with the river raging i'd close my eyes,
to the fish flailing, and my friends across the waters.
To the beat of the rapids, i'd happily die.

When they flew over that’s when I knew.
like tin barrels cut by chainsaws the engines roared
The back of my head attached to my shoulderblades
I looked up. My neck hurt but not as much as the sounds-
The sounds that made the dusty haze that made me think that made me realise
That we are long gone, that there was no reason to look back down to the
Soft soil that once invited me in which now seemed to purge me out- repulsive weeds wrapped me up. Earth’s no longer my home even if I don’t want to leave.
I know what’s to come.
I’ll go.

As it rises through skin I feel myself breath in and as an
exhale escapes my lips the headache rings through the hollow
pipes and pulse through the vessel of bones and meat of I.
Orbs roll down my neck. Winter a gem high on the shelf, only to come down in later Months.

Dandelions drift dancing, by the dunes near my second home-
the beach filled with blood stones, plastic and paper all in one so quickly setting the tone-
not a picture to be seen-
though what it means to me.

The splitting of two things- so painful to watch
you and me blue hat sailors we leave our mark etched into ocean
breeze. Like the splitting of lips
blood covered bruised bones breaking-
the static buzz, sorry you're breaking up.

The blues seep through cracks as I rake the grass that is my thoughts
Dawn is coming and as the hour strikes my mind starts rushing through the channels in my brain, my thoughts can't be tamed so I cut the cause.

Duct tape the holes in my walls and shove the blue into jean pockets I'll eat it if possible. You will not come in!

Still the cool keeps coming. Dawn is coming and I can't stop it so I run. Out run it. Dark smothering lights and the white stays to fight but we know it looses.

The storm hasn't taken my left to right the sanity of mine. Don't ask me about the ride by dark I left before it was too late. At light I resurrected from sheets that are tangling needs.

So cover your eyes. Dawn will come to my demise, just to watch and cackle.

High heels tapping down tile corridors
the cool synthetic sticking to your skin-
pink. pink like the colour of your brain.
Like the pigment of you lips that speak.
Speak in echos. Reaching far and wide,
in fuzzy radio static.

Feet slide down timber halls
the clank of chain on chain round neck-
gold- gold. like the ideas in your mind.
Like the voices in your head, they yell.
Cryptic messages bellow. Reaching far and wide,
in blurry waves of light.

Darkness overblown by light
At night the world rolls into bed
by dawn we shall make things right again. So it says.

The bubbling of me and you arises
when two people come together and fight
I don't get what you see, in all this protection.
Money out the window, weapon conventions.

It seems to be an excuse to hang loose and chill
when really the world is burning, and we're itching to ****
our mind in the night, by day we change.

Dawn up, sky blue, no matter in the world, today is perfect. Silenced if you're hurting. Like darkness real problems get pushed to the side.

When I reach the door step of death
will I feel the warm embrace of nothing
so hollow its heavy so big I cry-
and what should I do? when I get there
dust dandruff off shoulders, wipe shoes on the face of welcome and warmth-
maybe i'll just be polite ring the doorbell
but the confronting of my own fate brings me no comfort
so instead i've decided to slip a note under the door.
Subtle but still assertive. I am waiting. I am here.

This anticipation it's killing me
it's so cliche and oh i'm not like the others
i'm so different you wouldn't even notice
the way my eyes look at everything but nothing.

The mountain of energy that sits in the hole of my chest
just spent thinking and thinking and tormenting itself. Boiling down, evaporating. Still it never runs out.

I wonder. Maybe i'm just making a big kafuffle. Maybe I make a scene. I will die and death is death, so I should be entitled to something. Just bust through the door not thinking. Right?
Maybe I should walk in yelling. Take me! it's time I guess?

Something about that seems right. To leave fighting. Though no one wants pain, and like they say never shoot the messenger.

I shall wait and see. I guess for now a small knock would suffice.

With outstretched arms they scream help me.
and with huff of hel and slap of p- the outstretched arms curl
backward never again to reach surface doesn't it **** you to think.
That we our arms calmly by our sides- we with limbs holding each other- we grabbing a coffee on the way to work. We. Not them.

With outstretched arms they scream save us!
and with the rattle of a gun across metal cage they go from quiet to silence. In a million years a revolutionary change will occur. Too late for my friends the outstretched arms. Too late.

Vespertine shadows slowly encroach on the body of land that is me and you, us.
Forgetful people we get distracted by the green goblin we all trust- to soon.
Greedy child taking it all for yourself, you gullible thing, you immature thing, you human thing-

As hills erode, and small wrinkled trenches start to show in bright light, dandelions and forests start to grow faster and faster, louder and louder until it is the loudest. So proud of the way we made this- changed the mind of delicate dew drops, diving into the two sunken wells, they cry. The abundant land that is you and I is bigger than ever. The biggest ever.

The greatest to ever fall- falling down watch it claw at the edges of the world, you can hear the echoes call snapping of leaves, the forest burnt down, the green goblin you trusted betrayed you all the while you believed it. Now take it-
Look around. See the wrinkled face cave in, the body engulfed. From earth we rise, to earth we fall.

The loud rumble that is tumbling weeds down serendipity-
yet drought ridden western terrain in the barren countryside of red
rocky mountain high and piercing blue sky.

I see blood red soil-
that rather sit in the pits of misery than- drink.
From the clouds of gods in the night-
so listen to me when the heat begins to rise- and seas fall.

The loud rumble that is tumbling **** down serendipity-
started it all,
                                                        A Million- Years Ago.

A door slammed in the night-
across the road from I
lived a man-
three children, and him.
Happy family or so to expect ordinary-

Such a phenomenon- stars
falling off the sky stars- a once in a life time event occurs
and I stare-
what more to do when face to face with the tragic demise your own fate to just stand and stare hopeless
quite poetic. Ain't it?
So when watching, This star fall-
watch the dreams of children perish,
you and I and they all know.
So stare- and stare hard
for we die once the view goes dark
and curtains close-
fade to black-
                                        The End.

It is time I leave, take my hand I'll tell you bout the life I'll lead.
Do I believe it? All the more now you know- One day I say. One day.
Will you put me on the train and wave me goodbye?
Or leave me at the front steps of my new life that lies beyond the hill.

Sad lonely hill. Not near yet not far. In the middle.

Kitchen floors fell like the disappointment that hits right after a long night out-

cold, hard, sticky, *****, greasy-

Like the look that sweeps across my mothers face as I look up-

Kitchen floor.

Ironic how the thing that guides us through life is death-
how all through the phase of life we wonder-
death? you listening.

Tell me- do you camouflage yourself in ambivalence for fun
do you hide all your secrets under the hot sun for us to continue to wonder-
Death? LISTEN TO ME!

This belief and wonder of death is much like the religious way we live life-

So serious-

Why?

Time and time again I find reason to hide behind-
Giants. Great Giants whom we stand upon.
Time and time again we fail to improve.

One step forward and two steps backwards.
The motto we seem to live through.

Well you know whats going on-
You know yet you still sit there and
wait-

So while at it give life a thought-

not yours but the kids

-why even are we doing it?

It's survival

The flip of a coin the confirmation needed
by me to believe in my choice.
50-50 and ill take that.
Live by that-
My psyche like yours confused as hell by the rules this
world produced through the build up of opinion shot out
into bruises by the vessel of- us.

So a flip of a coin is enough confirmation but
the words of a friend make no difference,
the opinion not taken the validation of likes and comments
enough
to make you feel good in a second endorphins.

The flip of a coin enough. but the pain in the comment made. Worth,
1000

These technical uprooted events. Enough!

Find a friend and listen-

Listen to what they say

Street lights and open oceans,
quite the same to me.

If you plan to find yourself
meet me where your eyes leer.

Between the shadows and light,
stands the might that is your mind.

You're stronger than you think.
You say you're drowning, but
Look! your head is afloat.

Live through the blinding engulfing monster-
do not forget the feeling of cool air in the back of your throat.

Killer. The killer you are stands tall-
The way I love you, how dare you!
It kills- me.
I love you but I am running, you the reaping
shadow in my dreams.
They say blood ties us together, family.
Huh, blood?
That's interesting.

I know you have your struggles,
as we all do at a point in time.
Please please please. Spare me from yours,
as I spare you from mine.

Muffled sobs and pretty crying
Dressed beautifully in black to stand by boxes treasure of the heart-
And to imagine it ripped out time and time again before the preacher starts- so start

Throw soil onto mahogany box all symbolic and sane- I don’t know if I’d do it the same
What to say? I’ve never been to ash funeral of bright summer day-
To stand and cry in laces dress smart suit hat on head- conceal the dreadful fact we are all now dead
To stand and cry in pain.

For the one million dollar, no! To little-
Precious delight lies safely on velvet  mattress
So pretty.
The dichotomy of two so contrasting so ironic-
Sad crying but sad and beautiful-
Dead and cold by dead- beautifully dead Wait!
Pampered face and fluffed chest- never start controversy of the contour on his face the pain on his lips her neck-
We try so hard to preserve and keep- why?

To not celebrate the day with all the broken hearted that bleed, for you left! So yes, cry.
Cry angry Cry sad Cry pretty beautiful
But remember always remember this end
The ritual made, was made one day over a few many days-
This end of the movement of life is all made by us.

So party-
                   For the ones that lived!
                                                  - and remember me.

Such a phenomenon- stars.
Falling- falling out of the sky a once in a life time event occurs only,
Once and I stare-
What more to to when face to face with the tragic demise of your own fate to just stand and stand hopeless
Quite poetic ain’t it?
So when watching this star fall-
Watch the dreams of children perish in space-
You and I and they- all know
So stare and stare hard
For we die once the view fades
And the curtains close
Fade to black-
                                                The End.

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

“You’ll be fine…”
Right i’ll be fine with my labels to brag.
With my diploma, undergraduate degree, masters, phd
Under all that, me. I can barely see me-
I’ll be fine but, happiness? Is that in the picture?
Sorry I digress...

Though.
The status quo, they tell us A+ vital,
F is the devil,
Dr label in front of your name makes you capable.

I breathe complex numbers and long words
my blood is A+ and yes, it is something I lust.
For I, in this reality and life need that degree, PHD-
it is vital to me.
Contradicting my dreams?

I am composed

Underneath the layers of clothes I am melting-
but don’t get me wrong I am imploding not exploding for I am-

Composed.

I am composed and in matter of fact I am in control. How do you think I am able to hide under these expressions and ink with such precision and succession.

Composed I hide under the veil of my disguise. My clay face, and I-promise to not disgrace not betray I pray for my clay face to stay and stay it must-

For-
I am composed. I am.

No one told me that clay cracks under heat. Never mind I shall try metal for a mask that way I could bask in all the rays that is imploding heat.

Never exploding you will never be decoding never loading the ideas in my mind that would make me sway to a side make me change my mind for I will not waver.

I am composed.

Adopted.

Maybe not wanted
called out and hoped for a response and-
maybe I don't want it.

Stars.
Stars you
see-
the ol folks I look at are the same ones you
see-
looking into history-
stars die-

reminding me-
stars remind me of the one who left me.

From timid tap to thud feet come running-
Eyes in the back of necks dare open to the groan
of a grandfather ticking clock, fingers
fingers in fauna twist to turn as dry bones roll within casket homes-
snapping knees and grinding of joins vibrate through floors waking.
Souls-
the crack of a whip hollows out stones as they tip south-
Eyes wide shut.
              Eyes wide shut-
                                                          Eyes

Milk man.
Sorry-
So it seems that the advancement of stone to metal
creeps-
From paper to metal to plastic, cardboard to plastic metal cardboard.

Explosions-
Milk man. There are erupting forces that will not think nor breath as you and I and we formulated this change thinking materialism change better-
Harvest ideas, bigger better-
Thoughts out the window computers better
connection connection connection-
Better.

Halt. Milk man-
You've rung yourself dry of job.

Blood of poison heart of gold
you were only ten years old
when the gates of heaven opened
the clouds above wept

You left through the celling
in the night time-
with eyes wide open

I scratch the neon paper with thoughts in my mind-
The way you scathed laboured wood under dim candle light.
Clueless to my aptitude the falsity of what is new
What I know is- You, not you but your marvelous craft-
papyrus paper and pen, quill to bound book.

For time flies forward and never back-
From wood to paper to metal screen, we move.
Though minds collide from forward and behind-
Run away. Run away.
So as we buzz forward we fall two beats behind.