How they share not, the blood they pump,
Is a riddle that renders me dumb.
Ponderous, how they are so alike,
And yet he is not his son.

In winter, we went.
Clandestine, beneath the crispest sky,
Armed with carrier bags and clippers
Undisturbed by passers-by.
And frosty twigs cracked underfoot,
The trees around were starved of life.
A landscape drained of colour, and you alike,
As you looked at us, but saw your wife.
We strode through greying groups of bushes
Hems caught on outstretched arms of thorns.
I struggled; how could we three seem together
Yet underneath, I knew we'd torn.
We talked of life, and things before
Our time, we talked of war.
You grappled through the crunchy, ashen leaves
To find the perfect stick to whittle.
Kicking 'round carcasses of trees once grand
Now dusty gray, worn and brittle.

And there! In clusters, what we'd sought
Had ****** the life blood from the day
And would release a drop for nought
Trapped in bursting beads so gay.
Them voluptuous, glowing knots
Crowned by pointed varnished leaves
Would shine clipped to a lady's breast
But would do instead for our wreaths.

One query that I have today,
Is why do we look down to pray?
And when we wish, we raise our eyes
Heavenwards, beyond our skies?
This troubles me, and I'll explain:
Tis the principle that brings me pain.
In prayer, should we not face our Lord,
Positioned there to be adored?
And shouldn't shame lower our gaze
Towards the roaring souls ablaze,
Crushed beneath the Devil's dancing,
Should we not face him in fancy?

In a dream I realised I didn't want you
In it we were painting murals on my ceiling
It was dark but light enough to see the outline of your face
I hoped it was the street light shining through the bent blinds
On my tip toes I stood just reaching the wall
Each of us drew our own delirious dreams.


Your face appeared in front of mine
The back of my neck stretching,
my fingertips reaching out to touch your cheeks
usually rose but now green,
fluorescent and bright.
It was morning

Not all secrets are locked up in boxes
Not all truths are so hard to find

Some loiter at the bottom of napsacks
Others in the pockets of someone else's jacket
Some are laced up in a stranger's shoes
or waiting by the creekside...

We are sleuths,
The Great Adventurers!
and hound dogs
searching and searching

I'm telling you,
All we have to do is get out there...

Cold and without words,thoughts
  or freewill. They stuff me to satify
         they voracious appateties.

     Cold and without a say, a plan
    to break away from these bonds
       I stand still and be led astray
          To places which they stay.

Cold and without complain eletricity
     runs wild in my veins they say
         it's to keep me alive but it's
                To distort my mind.

Cold and without care if I ever dared
       myself to leave, to death they
              Would Starve indeed.