If I was to become an inferno a bit like the sun
some might think me hot and at night in spite of the heat beat upon my door

I resist the temptation to burn and for comfort look beyond the stars, the boulevards, singles bars and pick up joints and
in doing so I earn myself points
( redeemable at Costco. Tesco, and one more store called Phuket )

Far out where the way's untrod I plough through the universe which is a soulless sod of a place if you don't have directions, God gauges imperfections ( uses a micrometer) passing through Andromeda and still no sign,
If he truly could turn water into wine then why can't he put up a sign or at least a marker post or
if he is the holy ghost
he could spirit me out of here
if here is where it ends.

Where is this leading?
you're asking me?
what are they feeding you on
magic mushrooms?

There's no control
we're being
ground into dust
and then vacuumed up and
emptied into a black hole
or a wormhole
no soul
but
I already said that.

When being happy brings happiness but you write only misery and you think to yourself there's something not right with me and you write more misery because you're so very happy,

the circle is sometimes not round and that's a fact because some space thing out somewhere has cracked things wide open and here's hoping the black hole's just a warning
but if the odds are just one stack too high
we might as well fall into the misery and when we die
I wonder will that be an ecstasy or just happiness there at the end of me?

It's balderdash really
but
if you deal me an ace
I can face it.

Not writing poetry?
you must be smoking ****
because all I need
is a pen or a touchpad
and the ink or the keypad
goes mad.

A bit like me
sans poetry.

If I don't post much in the next
fortnight
hang tight
I am writing.

The grass is still green
the sky is still blue
the ocean's still there
and where are you?

Under the starlight when the night
is so still
watching the universe as galaxies
spill out
and will you be happy
behind the darkness when the Sun
breaks through
in front of the mirror where the mirror
is me seeing you?

until
and at the side of a sea,
I call myself Galilee.

Some disciples with scruples
some without such
beware
the touch of a Judas.

I have grown in the minefields
and have
blown away in mindless days
but
Summer was always so.

so
what do you need to know?

We can all go swimming in the plastic sea
with lego man and his family.

Grammarly says lego should be with a capital L
I told Grammarly to go to hell
see
I can spell and my words are my words
except for grammarly and lego but there you go
we can't all be perfect
or
maybe Peter can be
and of course
Lady Penelope
but beware
Parker's a shark in the shallows.

That's it
another load of krap,
oh ****
I shouldn't have said that
now I feel like whatsisname?
you know
that guy in the jewellery game
yeah that's it, Mr
Ratner.

It happens in the half-state
when the film of your life is
stored on acetate
and every time you're late
for the appointment.

I'm giving it up and not just
for Lent.

Going to hand back the keys to the door and
head back to the place that was there long
before all of this

prior to the headache
the backache
the take
take
ache
wake but I think it's too late
still reeling around and bound up
in the acetate

in the half-state.

Holy week,
another chance to torment
those who seek redemption.

Hang your cross of Jesus on the wall
( a double execution)
as if crucifixion was not enough.

..are all immigrants, refugees, asylum seekers
looking in on that which keeps us out
and isn't that what this life's all about?
abandonment and
discontent?

men who play accordions accompanying the sad songs
that we all know all too well.

Sunday and the City wakes
Clarence takes the dogsies for a walk
which breaks the monotony
of
living in the city

'someone talk to me',
he said silently because
there's no point wasting breath when
no one's there,

oh bring me death?
but what would dogsies do
when you shuffle off?

if you don't know
then why?

Mr Steven Curtis Lance I have borrowed your 'Dogsies' for a while. (check out Steven's Facebook page.

I anesthetized myself
with
fifteen pints of Olde English,
**** good health
I'm going down.

But coming round when
the pounding in my head
reminds me that
I can't be dead
is a drawback.

Yet
Olde English sounds so quaint,
believe me folks and yokels
it ain't,
the locals where I live
give
free stretchers for the
wretches
just like me.