In the deep, dwelling thoughts, rusty sleep
Sleep for the weak, rest to reprimand peace
With bedazzled thoughts about her
Thoughts about me

With fantasies of reality that will never break breeze
The local world is supposed to park in its own lane when you sleep
Sheesh, but images of her voices are at its peak
A reality I touch but for me it's hard to keep

These are the hard times,
the long stretch of coal-shed days,
the corrugated nights of the antinomian.

I retch at the old doubts and the panoply
of dustbins clattering bright,
their watchers simian in the morning ****.

I dress as though dredging up greys,
monotone deep in the GB tradition:
now sandpit tea with oil stain floats
silt dreads the mass of a seven year clay.

Four weeks of shadows drown wind in a storm.

And dreams of my cottage
in days of such calm and late summer happiness
as brought cut corn and strawbs
and horse manure in hugs

until like Zulu tribesmen the birds appeared.
Hunched with expectation
Spears smiling like baddies they rushed me.

I woke pouring sweat like a workhorse
the weakest of defences laid up
my face pulling cellophane over French windows.

]

Young women
on the streets
Beating off
old pervert’s wrinkly meat.

Young women, without a dream to be
free live a life in misery
All alone in their hearts,
Always alone in their own hearts.

Decadence is haunting the street
Darkening the darkest corners.
We will all be alcohol abusers
We will all be hopeless drug users,
Standing alone in the streets like them
Fallen victims of society
And that is why we must put it to an end.

lone, dark night
feet thumping the concrete sidewalk
stars twinkle:
in and out, off and on
my life in and out, off and on
the only constant in this vastly changing world
is death
and death i yearn for

i'm new at this
fresh
shiny?
no. bland.
just plain dough.
no sprinkles.
just me... so...
hello c:

In youth
It came as a flood
Almost senseless with
the rush of expression
Pouring from my hand;
It could not keep pace with
the ceaseless deluge from my mind
Half-formed coherency
No thought paid to the rules of
Grammar, Spelling, Paragraphs
Just a wrenching of the soul
that demanded ink.

Years later, studies of
Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Tennyson
A mind full of words that
are not my own, I am
Senseless with the inability
to break this learned dam. Now
nothing comes out right.
My mind, it burns
and burns and burns
But nothing ever takes aflame.

During this I think of you,
Sweet butterfly kisses
The memories are but few.

Coyote comes knocking
My life turns upside down
My totem
My doom
Trickster
Lonely and loony

Coyote brings stories
Legends are born
Creator
Hero bringing inventions
Discoveries

Yet he is tricked
He tricks

Love and hate
Night and day
Comes and goes
The circle is renewed
Never gone

Horizons clear up
Bright Sun looks down
Upon this human
Being trying to grow forth
Leaving darkness behind
For one more day of trickster lore