lovers kiss in this moonlight
I'm heading into the night
where this moonlight exists

man is always the man he can be
possibly?
impossibly this
when the kiss is the long one
the only one
and it goes on and on
until you want to draw breath
but you want to go on
and if death
be it so
you still want to go
on and on.

On the way to where I am.

Millions of ripples to ******* me clasped by the giantess
we know as the sea

each wavy line is a sign that she's speaking to me
and only the moon knows my love of this
when the stars kiss the sky
I feel I could die
in the giantess we know
as the sea.

There's another homecoming when the tide's running tight in
a place where the night meets the day
far away from the torturous sounds of the  street
from the bustle and blare and odd people you meet

I'm on my there to be where I am

I share this plan with my maker
the one I call the caretaker
he like the giantess speaks to me,
whispers
only to the sea
that's in every drop of me.

I pass myself off as a replica.

previous applicants need not apply?
why?

are we just fodder for cannon when needed
and when needs arise
who dies?
not them tinpot general men
it's us
and then the telegram's sent
to the family?

I suppose they just text telegrams today
it's another institution that passed slowly away

there's much to be said for the personal touch
but we don't get too much of that.

On Sunday I usually hate Sunday
which is the day before what I call
no fun day
a monday
and I want it to be Friday

I'd like it to be Friday in
nineteen sixty nine
but likes are like time mines
they blow up in your face,

that's why I pass myself off as a replica,
I never knew the real me.

There is no 'real time'
even the speed of light takes some time to light up somewhere where the time has already gone and that's passing time or past time on the timeline,

show me a now and I'll tell you it was,
but when I kiss you and time stands still and the clock ticks on and the place where you were is still there but you've gone,

what am I to make of it?

I imagine a dial with so many combinations and each one a moment in these times of frustrations and too many numbers to call

there is no 'real time' at all,

give me a minute and
Chopin gave me a waltz,
but
that's just diamonds for the dancers of
which only few sparkle

the ideal time not real time but my time with you time
is the one time it's real but never in 'real time'

when you've cracked the code any road that you walk on is the road that will take you to where fate awaits you and if time overtakes you
don't worry
there is really no 'real time' at all.

Death can do strange things,
like time-lapse photography,
undress those quite bored, or
make a patron saint out of a fool,
turning sleek idiots into monks
more mysterious than Rasputin.

What a place to drink, the casino
death runs, nothing fancy or beautiful,
a blind man called Dark Island
taking requests on a piano with keys
worn dull as bone handled knives.

A place the lost can find work, graceless
and not made in America without a living,
all these odd jobs death can do, like art,
factory smoke blown in the eyes of women
in Senegal making overalls for Walmart.

Do I love you??
Why are you asking me this??
Do I love you??
I love the things you say.
I love the things you do.
But do I love you??
Sometimes I think I do.
Sometimes I tell myself
To just accept my love for you,
To give myself permission to fall deeply in love.
To allow myself happiness for a change,
And to sink into something beautiful.
Yet other times, I find myself thinking
That perhaps I am just lonely.
Perhaps I just miss you.
Perhaps it is just nice to have someone to talk to.
Perhaps it is the fact
That every time we speak
It is three in the morning,
And deny it all you want,
But you know **** well that that makes a difference.
Perhaps I just love the nostalgia from when we were kids.
I do love it.
I love the memories.
I love those years.
I love the feelings they left behind.
But do I love you??
Do I love you??
Oh darling.
Ask me no questions,
And I tell you no lies.

Cats stuck to window sills as languid as the rolling hills and craggy like the rocky tors
sheep sleeping underneath a portcullis of a sky
as steel grey clouds disguised as prison bars soothe
them gently with the Lakeland lullaby

I saw no Viking
but I did see hikers by the score
up the scree
scrambling up the tor

being me,
I wondered
what you doing that for?

Boats across the lake
too much
Kendal mint cake
and your jaws ache
take the Lilliputian train
we're toddlers
toddling off again

Such fun.

In the mortuary

where death is quite acceptable

but not compulsory

I

resist the urge to abrogate responsibility

and learn my lines.




There are times to breathe and not believe and times that both are true

as a rule

I choose one of the two,




the hand of fate would make a date but trust is not his name,

ask him where's his other hand or are

they both one and the same?




..and if I lay down on a slab

they'll say,




dead?, but he looks fab




I have to say that I agree

when I am in

the mortuary.

Public announcement.

'Zannusi
               the appliance of science'

Yeah?

I place no reliance on magic nor science or things that go bump in the night.

See a TV
buy a TV
add a line to your made up CV

new?
so
you think,
but it's three months
down the line and so last year,
so buy another one
fine.

Face it,
you've been ****** in
spun around  
sold a pup
and been ground into the ground

science?
don't make me laugh when I want to puke,

Look and that's look with an ooh and not an uck
I really don't give a Fuch if you believe or not

but you'd better believe in the
'One drop'
the blood spot
someone got time because of it
some murdering little *****
that took an innocence
and

I suppose that is the appliance of science,



I'm as right or as wrong as it's broad or it's long
I hold my hands up
arrest me
or
free me
I've got a CV
don't want a TV

**** this and society
**** sobriety
the hierarchy and
anyone else who
disagrees with me.