I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
    oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with
    themselves, remorseful after deeds done;
I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying,
    neglected, gaunt, desperate;
I see the wife misused by her husband—I see the treacherous seducer
    of young women;
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love, attempted to be
    hid—I see these sights on the earth;
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny—I see martyrs and
    prisoners;
I observe a famine at sea—I observe the sailors casting lots who
    shall be ****’d, to preserve the lives of the rest;
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon
    laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these—All the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out
    upon,
See, hear, and am silent.

upon one time

where I woke with memory of
a dreaming rhyme, fresh so clearly

vivid on my mind, still
bold colorful sublime,


the paper naked,
staring  empty

stark,
awaiting words
of dreamscape

treatises,
escaped being captured
by a mere me

or stayed
in never never
land

safe from prying eyes
to always be there
when

I sleep.

A street is dusty there is grit on my feet.
Meat hanging about from a left over stew
Bony cats cling to doorsteps
Like furry door mats and there are a few
Keeping the draughts out from the valley
Blowing a disease on bated breath.
A cat dares to hope or so it seems
But with this only bring a painful death.
The street so full of filth
from shoes, the smoke, and waste
brings creepers from every angle
A broken fishing line dares
with hope hanging thinks it can dangle
into a stream, hoping for a dream fish
to bite, but it wont, it is not there
it drowned in the sea of doom
where there are trawlers and fishermen
with shiny nets and no dust in their room
Leaves, crunching underfoot of the passer by
staring at himself in windows, wiped
till they are bone dry.
The park gates, daily washed by the thankful dog
picking its leg up conveniently at this stop
through the stench, the mist and the pea-soup fog
it wanders with the peacocks where feathers drop
on the dusty lane, the ***** street where cats sleep.

She heard her little mockingbird
Majestic fantasy
Through all the rhyme and reasons
For such fake security

We heard the call, she heard it too
Time stood so still
But the world just kept on turning
With no seconds left to ****

And when the summer turned to fall
And promises broke from the chill
She ignored her little mockingbird
And it's cry from heaven's hill

spin me 'round the compass face
from North through East
on the balancing middle
round the dial
through South
through West,
no matter,
I always return
a little
off-kilter
or perhaps
a little
wiser.

much true heart songs sung sprang right
by my ears many messages
I should have grabbed for but
I spin I spin on this merry, merry
go around dizzy,
busy, so as the bees have to
pollinate every flower my
missive it seems , as a male
human is to be promiscuous
I give a minute here
to enunciate my weaknesses
take my wings off
and be humbly
human.

Provide,
Never wish to divide
The family,
They always want to see us live happily,
These are great people,
Who deserve so much respect,
In the bible,
Its only the commandment concerning them which contains a promise,so inspect
Yourself,are you honoring them as they deserve to be honoured?
Having them is a blessing,
Love them.

she never complained
about how long my hair was
or that how it reeked of
cigarettes when she kissed me
good morning,
she never painted
my skin grey
when the sun
shined,
she never told me
that my
breakfasts of
turkey sandwiches
and pepsi weren't healthy,
she told me once that
I should quit smoking
because she did,
I never did,
she says I drink to much,
she told me that
she loved me
when I made her laugh,
her legs were always warm
and I told her she could start a fire
when she doesn't shave,
she laughed,
she told me that
she loved me when
my friend died,
she never told me
why she loved me,
she never gave
me a reason to leave,
I never told myself why
she loved me, I never knew,
so I gave myself a reason

so through tears
she then told me
to go **** myself

The skeletons aren’t in my closet.

ive strung up their skulls for my wind chimes,

I’ve ground their ribs into the powder i dust on my skin,

I’ve set their spines on a string and wear them as jewellery.
There are no monsters under my bed.

my monsters live within,

they run through my veins like the ichor of the gods,

they flicker behind my dark eyes like shadows,
tthey whisper my sins like a lover’s embrace.
Iam not a porcelain girl.

and if you come any closer I’ll bite you,

and smile red with your blood dripping from my ivory fangs

when i heard about it,
when i heard of “free art:”
i thought of free bread and wine,
and celtic sirens,
i laughed though... you made the earth
so ******* boring we all wanted to become astronauts.
when art became free we tried to moralise
drinking wine (as a portent of richness)
and eating bread (as a portent of the russian revulsion),
i bought my art.. and waited for the ones who
discouraged it complaining buying their bread “well fed.”
the celtic sirens hung on though, singing softer and softer
but more prone to the acid tongues dragging the democrats into
a hope of kings and village kindred elders,
but i still didn’t hope for free artistry that was akin to circus,
caged the gypsy have i?
i have, but i did not warrant free food or free aquas of variation,
i simplified freeing the demands with the demands freed into excess,
well... if i were kingly i’d still have provided free bread and wine
rather than music and the curbing the excesses of lyricists;
making music free just discouraged all originality, all creativity,
it just became a realism of a struggled acting -
i feel cheated having missed the antics of britannia in
the 1960's and '70's like it was greek and roman without
the epileptics of watching a documentary on trans-sexualisation
of brazilians and ******* disco to gag on an excess of flashy lights
just to sell lipstick... and have these quasi-epileptic shivers
without having an opposing opinion to counter the freely stated & fluxed.
i guess my convulsions were due to the fact that the men
didn’t call it either homosexuality nor trans-sexuality,
and that i was actually looking at two dodos talking, meaning
i was seeing the extinction of the human race through the ****,
meaning i was watching the knights templar idol, baphomet,
realised 2000 years after the crucifixion in that crown of thorn dreams,
perfected in thailand... of all places;
that actually beats the identification of ibn saud as the dajjal,
moving further east of mecca than riyadh and
the assassination attempt within the framework of muhammad’s hadith of ‘no entry’ into mecca by the dajjal.