Public transportation reeks of human sweat; the unwashed bodies of common man pressed together like flaked tuna fish in a can, only less well preserved.

What folly bathing can be; as it hides the dark animal truth of who and what we are. The stench we turn our noses up from whilst we traverse throughout our day holds within it's sour notes our true identity.

We are not nicely scented soaps and perfectly groomed hair. We are not our finely pressed clothes or smoothly manicured hands.

We are creatures of this planet with a developed mind capable of great feats but our greatest achievement thus far may be the lies we have convinced ourselves to believe.

And so we pack into busses, trains and planes and do our best not to breath the same air as our fellow passengers on this trip called life.

I am not the girl you marry
I am the girl who 10 years from now
Will out of nowhere cross your mind
In the midst of contentedness
And have you wondering
What happened to her
I am not the girl you swear forever to
I am the girl who you'll think of
When you ***** your finger on the diamond ring
You bought for the one you plan on spending your life with
I am not the girl you have to try to forget
I am not memorable
In any particular way
But one day you will think of me
When you're sitting in a bar
And the short blonde girl next to you
Orders a glass
Of whisky.

a bedtime story*

In the distance stands a lighthouse
seeing all with cyclops eye
once a beacon, now a hollow,
dead in misted moonlit sky.

Proudly once she ruled the headland,
warning all of crag and shoal
trusted friend to salt scoured sea dogs,
smugglers caught within her glow.

Beauty lived as Keepers mistress
'till one day her love did bloom
walking clifftops with her lover
brought her ending, far too soon.

Bloodied, torn by cliff face ragged
screaming for the life she craved,
Beauty held her rounded belly
As fury deep hit waters grave.

Beauty stands alone in darkness
there above the tempest sea
bloated souls of those who perished
now her only company.

 When the moon is high above us
wrapped in rags and witching stare
Beauty stands atop the catwalk
weeds 'a winding through her hair.

When I was a teenager
(like Dave Allen must have been)
I was at confessional
and the priest asked me what my sin was

" I have been in bed, Father
with a woman
of loose morals," I said
and refused to give a name

He sighed and he said:
"Was it Anna Berley?"
I said I couldn't tell
"Was it Sue Saxton?"  he persisted
I insisted I was sworn not to tell
"Nora Muxton?"  he asked again
I remained silent
And he dismissed me then with
5 Our Fathers and  5 Hail Marys


My mate Sam was outside
and he asked what I got
and I said to him:
*"5 Our Fathers and  5 Hail Marys -
and 3 good leads is what I got"