He cries.

His chilld’s hungry,

Chicken gnawed to the bone.

Chose to keep his head down

But it hasn’t paid.

So, he hits the street.



The world at his feet.

Or, at least, this trade.

His chance to take the crown

Now, he hears sirens drone.

Regretfully,

He cries.

In the pub where it's always ten past two

I'll wait for you.

Tucked in the corner - you know the booth.



Like the clock face

waiting silently and immobile.

Time standing still without you.



And the piano man will be here

playing to a thankless crowd.

But we'll clap like your papa would.



The pub who's clock remains still

and with airplanes circling above;

That's where I'll be.

Here we stand.

Somehow elsewhere from the world.



At times unable to comprehend what’s in front of us,

Happening around us.



It’s us and them,

Us and them.



You say you’re an alien

And I tend to agree.



As no creature exists

Quite like you.



At least not that I’ve seen.

Does that make you an alien?



Regardless, we’ll continue to go through

Life not really understanding



Until, maybe, one day we do.

But are we still alien then?



Or do we lose our inner cosmos

And forget where we left the outer one too.

How torturous
to love in the midst of war.
Each passing plane
an antagonist.

Lovers’
grips tighten,
Breathing in and not out
should an exhale give reason to fire.

But love has a way
to grow deeper with
Every passing day
Every passing plane

How fortunate we are
To be left alone
to stir when we want;
love when we want.

The milkmen are all gone.

Dispersed like the crows

that ravaged the tops of bottles.



A new generation sees the alternative

to ravaged and wrinkled flat peak caps -

tumbled from their heights. Yesterday's plate

no longer throttled



so that a better life can prevail,

with total control of their self - a being.

A generation no longer hostile;



no longer blind;

no longer ignorant.

Instead blissful. Modern role models.

We run

Through where we know.



A plate smashes and a voice booms

Drowning out the television



That tells of mass execution,

Mass flooding,

mass horror.



But, we run

Through where we know.



Where booming voices and plates smashing

Are just the custom,

The soundtrack of these walls.



So, we run

Through where we know.



Warming by the winter fire

That burns all the way through

And encapsulates the intense heat.



As we sweat.



Still, we run

Through where we know.



Because running is what we know -

Not arriving

In some removed world

That maybe brings peace

but maybe holds the TV’s reality.



No, we’ll run

Through where we know

A night girl takes the blame

Plaster after plaster simply to pave

A way for a better life.

“Where is her shame?”



Asks the dolled up go-go wife

Leading her husband by his tie

Like a collar around his neck. Sick.

As she parades, reckless to strife.



And the mistress?

The same black tint that he kisses

at home, here pours and pours

On every visit.



A discarded mascara bottle,

discarded amore.