And so it becomes
apparent
that I am simply
writing
what I would be
thinking
and just making a
pattern
on a piece of note
paper.

A distilled vision
gliding through
the neo-cortex
loosely gripping
the pineal gland

Glazed eyes
a heavy lung
the resounding cough
echoes off the
filthy brick wall.

Much to his
disappointment
he must make recourse
to the natural law

Not that he is
a man of valour
but on the contrary

He is just the lion
Seeking a loose
sense of courage.

Why do we dream
little yellow bird
of captivating the winsome
just to witness
their slow, rotting demise

Why do we dream
little yellow bird
of sharing our sorrows
our contagious illness
with the well and healthy

It makes our insides
toss and churn
to see pleasure and pride
in the charismatic rover
as they pass and sing

Why do I dream
little yellow bird
of the day you cease
to give me a tune
to allow my axe to rest.

Wasted days
accumulate

An increment
to useless years.

In no way
will I move
just to make
my ends meet

One thousand
of my finest
have flittered
to those with
the filthy gift
of serendipity

Perhaps I should
give it all up
my happiness
and well-being
to be replaced
by hard graft.

He walks around
his mind
a hamster wheel
turning on the same
pivot of thought

His life is monotonous
and it grieves
him deeply

So he talks
and spouts
the same tired verses
and tries to
make amends of his
terrible life
by means of
dealing derision

But try as he may
his words will always
be as sharp
as a month old
regularly used
razor blade.