I ripped my blindfold, I can see
Life's not what it's cracked up to be
But these were the cards dealt to me
To convey it even remotely
I write this little elegy
To let my mind and spirit free

She boils animal bones
for one  day,  up three
times a night to check
the rolling calcium

and within the mineral water
she believes are the dreams
of cultures like Jews
rising from

mass graves, missing faces
from family portraits, no
violence against young
or old;

she drinks.

I can feel it in my knees
It knocks on my chest when I breath
Crawled to my head
Kicked back and relaxed on my brain
Hello migraine

in the lights of the city along the waterfront
reflecting across the bay serene and calm
it may seem all is peacefully at bed
until I see from here the flash of guns

and hear in the echoed sky a retort
of  someone dying alone
on a corner in a fight
so unnecessary

sights and sounds abound
from my perspective
not sure of their origins
or directions

until I see reporters films
and introspectives
on the nightly  news
at 4 and 5

and then I recall how peaceful it all is
watching from across the water
from here drawing my conclusions
and being wise

when I am not there seeing it in person
just a ******
jumping
to conclusions

See that zombie stood over there.
Caked in fresh blood.
It's under his hair.
Found a fella with a hole in his head.

Sad zombie fella.
Found a slice of mouldy old bread.
Used it as a soldier.
Dipped in his head.

No fun.
Newly made zombie.
He's always hungry,
Now he's dead.

Peeps at Mr Majestical's testicles.
Fancied chewing them.
Loved the juice.
Succulent as strawberries.
Raspberry sauce.
Blood of course.

Derwent fancied a bit of breast.
Loving mother told him.
Breast is always best.

Julie's just a crazy chick.
Fancied a nibble on the dead guy's ****.
Yummy, yummy.
Really sick.
Or should I say she ****** it.
As if it were a straw.
Special days of living.
Always was a *****.

The kid in the corner is popping out eyes.
Never really worked out why.
Perhaps he was thirsty.

Eleanor.

She fancied a nibble on the bladder and kidney.
Of a once fine chap.
Whose first name was Sidney.
***** tasted of peach lemonade.
Eleanor the dead chick.
Her day was made.
Got really drunk.

That Zombie's really ******.

Mum's over there.
One of them?
Or still my mum?
You know what?
I really don't care.
For the first time in my life.
I feel really scared.

Hell.
I digress.
They're chasing me now
I'm making a mess.
Run out of puff and all that stuff,

They're trying to eat me.
That's quite enough.
I'm feeling quite numb.
The dead ******* won.
Stripped all the tissue clean off my ***.

Chewed though a bit of a nerve.
Partially damaged.
You feeling the image?
Bled me near dry.
He did.
*******.
Made me cry.
For a second or two.

Lucky me.
One ate my eye.
So glad.
I won't see myself die.
With a skeletal hand.
I'm waving goodbye.
(c)Livvi

through the noise and traffic
I fought my way to tonight
like the brash loud car racing
light to light

the crazy race driver on
the public streets
the guy on your
bumper

you can feel him almost cussing away
and honking and in a hurry
that was me
until I got peace

I no longer rev my engine
or try to beat the yellow
I putt-putt
along in the slow lane

now,
wanting to see the leaves of the tree and
all the people and study
what they are doing
in their daily

going on and on,
and the guy with no muffler
now is not me,
the guy has finally won

peace
and contentment
almost walking I am now
and my legs

feet soul are
much better for it.

i hate that our parents taught us to muffle our emotions

and i hate the need for a cigarette that i feel in your car



i hate that when i was younger i told myself to stop writing songs

i hate the need for loving that i feel when i'm alone



but it is going to be alright sometime

it is going to be alright sometime

i feel this soft



you don't know what to do when you're cold and lonely

your sit on my bed and watch tv

the seasons are changing

your hands are frigid and you are messaging your girlfriend

telling her existential things,

bringing her into your crisis



now you're remembering when you were thirteen

and in love with ingrown ivy

and your best friend...

who told you she could never love you and said so in the cryptic bubbles

she drew in your poetry book.

you're feeling kind of restless and you know you can't contest that

there's no way

to get out of this highhandedly-



so you turn away

and you make up words to fill the pages of



your soft leather book

and you think of sweet summer, somewhere special and you crawl

into your bed

where you can be warm

and blend in -