From my balcony I can smell the change of seasons
wood smoke and salt and damp leaves,
long-sleeve shirts stale from the bottom drawer
and clouds bunched like sailors to the west
promising whisky and a hornpipe.

who will mourn the hot sun’s scent on plastic
the pallor of long afternoons
bored blind and dull as paint
spattered on old shoes
beside the door

leading to the courtyard
built to watch summers with disinterest
and clay tiles, the perpetual chat
of water in basins with wind in branches
plump with crows.

light the candle from punk
left over from July Fourth,
unstop the bottle of strong water
then scent your neck with the old apples of it
the wise apples and the flat ones

and the pears of autumn red as a nun’s wimple
soft as wet hay
sweet as a kiss in the shade of fruit trees
the sun arching into evening
the insects silent and dead

and your hand
with its long fate and short, tight girdle
its quick Mercury
resting upon mine
as if to say:  here is the work of winter.

Of what weight does love hold?
Cosmic gigantic love
Streatching from star to star,
from time to time,
Leaping all barriers,
In an insane hurtle race
Run by rabid contenders,
Frothing at the mouth,
Colidicopes in their eyes
Swirling,

As they clear fence after fence
Hardly catching themselves
As their sloppy foot falls land,
All ankles, knees, wobblingly
catching themselves
Their brains decifering
the confused code
Of signals beamed
from legs heart and stomach
All culminating in this
Borderline
Purposeful looking
Yet unintentional
Floppy mess
 
For in the sake of their love
, Of some thing that they hope
will make them immortal,
or at least super,
That temporary and basic seemingly
Irrefutable good that one feels in his pit
Expanding them and inflating them till they float

High enough above others
To squintingly look down, into the eyes of those unable to bouey bob above the rest.
Lights flicking on their foreheads so
Even if they don't talk people know
Where they are and how splendid
Their bobbing is.

And let's not kid ourselfs
Look at those two
Out in the dark and deep
The 2 hrtz signal allowing them each
To be sure the other exists
Flashes reveal the hidden expressions
Those times of clarity so sparce
When all you want to do is look at them
For a good long time
Take in the other completely
for in those nights
When all thoughts clump
Turning colours to brownish purple.
An you cannot see the other
to have them help as they so enjoy.
Two distant bleeps of light
Red but none the less visible
To all around

After all I guess they will be serving as warner's, out their on thier own.
What rocks and reefs the will they arbrais
What swells will the brave,
And what will we learn from
watching From shore,
Whishing them luck as the sun rests on the other side, as the white caps tumble, as the clouds roll on overhead.
Its a very wet scenario.

The painting
When she left it had been snowing but she
Left no footprints, that is many footprints but not one
I could recognise as belonging to hers.
Years passed like a stable of wood waiting for winter
And I finally saw her in a painting by Paula Rego
So many suffering women abused by men over time
They had survived while I sat in the ***** of a strong
Woman ******* her ******* like a little pig
And in her eyes, I could read her deep sadness and hands red by
Endless cleaning floors and serving men when young.
She cared not for a son he would have abused her too
Yes, it was her she had left no footprint in the snow
She had painted the misery of men her hatred of humanity
She had reduced me to a little man in fear of ghosts
And I could no longer reach her with sweet words or tempt
With my moments of lust.

On the edge of your dreams lies a Demon.

He sleeps while you act, and acts while you sleep.

But what happens in between?

As your eyes begin to rest and you feel your soul lift, drift, tethered by a string. It's eyes begin to gleam, and over the hills and valleys It's mighty yawn can be felt.

But tonight you were running with scissors, you feel asleep on broken glass and your tossing and turning has set the Beast free! The string has been cut by his toothy smile!

You drift through the forest of your mind, searching for your being, your will to live.

Hopes for your departed self are hunted and devoured one by one. The Demon is on the prowl.

You begin to see reflections, Water, Smoke, and Mirrors. They all belong to the Beast!

Stumbling through the slopes of your mind Death may round the corner, but so does the tree of knowledge.

At last you see it! the apple of your eye! everything you've been dreaming of. You try and try as you might it is beyond what the Demon has already taken. You fear your essence your very spirit will be next!

Water, Smoke, and Mirror's AGAIN! The Demon is here! There is no escape.

You turn to face its many forms, Their glare dying off. Revealing its true form.

Its visage is so shocking, so cutting you are shattered in its presence.

Two images, Body and Soul, both yours. Who you were, who you want to be! was it always so? or is this trickery!

You can not look away, so the Beast looks for you. its reflection shows that fruit once again.

A gilded cage.

You awake still unsure if you are or were body or spirit.

Waiting for the waves of the sea,
White horses, you are.
Wet the insides of the jar, gently. Suddenly I found myself
Walled by a glass, (from within
Wolf it down), I mean, the anticipation, I mean, I’m anticipating..
Walk. Walk. Let us walk. Walk me home
When you’re ready…