Visiting the graves,
the old dog
leads the way.

Julie was walking
down Oxford Street
with you

one of her hands
was in yours
the other was holding

a cigarette which she put
to her lips and drew on
and exhaled the smoke

and said
pushing smoke
into the world

do you think Christ
ever came?
of course

you replied
the whole calendar
of the Western world

is spilt before and after
his coming
she inhaled deeply

and stopped to peer
in a shop window
don’t like that dress

it’s too **** middle class
too safe
you looked at the dress

in the window
at the colours and style
would your mother where it?

you asked
she’d wear it
but I wouldn’t

be seen dead in it
she said
moving you on

squeezing your hand
reminding you
of the quick *****

and *** in the small cupboard
off the ward
where she was staying

while trying to kick
the drug habit
she spread out

amongst brooms and boxes
and you there gazing at her
wondering if some domestic

would find you there
well? do you think
Christ really came?

she asked
yes
you said

he split history in two
he made people
either love him

or hate him
and want to destroy him
and what he stood for

she laughed and said
you certainly got him
under your skin

I don’t think he came at all
she said
before inhaling

her cigarette smoke
I think it was all
a big joke played out

on the Jews
to get them riled
she inhaled

her cigarette smoke
and was silent
as you walked on

down the Street  
it was no joke
being crucified

no joke hanging there
on that cross
you said

she pulled you
into a shop doorway
and kissed you

and said
oh forget about him
and his crucifixion

I’ve had enough
of the parents
ramming him

into my brain
over the years
and she kissed you again

and you looked
into her dark eyes
where you thought

many a dream comes
and drowns
and dies.

Worry wakes me at 2am
refusing to let me go to bed

"Come, let's talk" he says to me,
"about all of life's possibilities;

of life, of death, of what happens after

of fate, of choices, of happily-ever-afters

of sickness, of danger-and even kidnappers,

of careers, of regrets, of blessings and bets

of family, of neighbors, of lovers, of friends.

Come! Let's chat, inside your head.

We have all night, so take your time.
Let's also make a grocery list-don't forget the wine!"

I hate when Worry wakes me at 2am
but I must be polite, so I just smile and nod my head

I listen to all that Worry tells me
but he makes himself comfortable and dwells deep inside me

he visits for days and sometimes weeks
yet when he leaves, he escapes without a peep

Dear Worry, please next time
just knock at the door
give me some time, so I may implore!

Yet, tonight we remain friends
viewing the world through your concave lens

as you rest yourself inside my head
dear Worry, it is time for bed.

My lover asks me:
"What is the difference between me and the sky?"
The difference, my love,
Is that when you laugh,
I forget about the sky.

What are you now, cloud?
While I slept beneath an oak
You were shaped like carp.

What lies beyond the bend in the road?
Behind the green pine trees,
Capped with white snow?

I cannot know what lies ahead
Until I reach the turn
I fear the journey long though
And my feet ache and burn.

This road feels somehow steeper
From when I walked it the last time
Oh, everything is worse alone
Without him by my side.

He was a fearless traveller
Whose words were always sweet.
He said "a traveller is what I am,
I've marched through cold and heat.

I've swam through snow,
I've run through rain,
But no amount of travelling
Can escape me from this pain.

I long to see my loving wife,
So gentle and so kind,
But I fear I've left her alone
Far too many times.

I could not return home now
Her love has long since left,
And to see her with another man
Would surely be my death".

As that bend drew ever nearer,
I knew soon we would part.
So I struggled one last aching time
To heal his lonely heart.

I said "Why do you travel forever?
Why not go home now?
Her love is strong as ever,
She forgives your wandering around."

"There is no other man for her,
There is only you.
I beg you now come home.
Start your life anew."

He said "I am a weary traveller,
I always long for home,
But I cannot be still.
Travelling is all I know."

And though weary he was
He kept walking with me.
But he stopped at the bend
At the edge of the trees,

He said "I've seen you before,
And I'll see you again.
Please do not miss me,
But don't forget me,
Old Friend".

That was many years ago,
And I miss him still.
That road is getting longer.
I am getting ill.

So I return to my empty house.
Through my hair I run a comb.
And I leave one light on - *just in case -
My weary traveller comes home

Mercy, Almighty King;
Though arteries be congealing,
America's going a'mealing.

The desert, they say, is better crossed
If the nomad knows his way;
Your mind, I’m told, is easily lost,
But who am I to say?

It’s written that the road is longer now
Than the one that Jesus walked;
I’ve read where Satan’s stronger now,
But who am I to talk?

You can’t believe the things you hear;
To each his private dread:
I’m looking for the Queen of Beers
To take her to my bed.

Queen of Beers
Magic tears
Foaming in your head;
Give me one more sip
And I could slip
Between the living and the dead.

The TV says that folks are worse
Than they ever were before;
And the earth is just a cosmic hearse
Driven by a *****.

The paper’s printing war and fear
Seems soon we’ll all be dead;
I’m searching for the Queen of Beers
To fetch her to my bed.

Queen of Beers
Golden tears
Running through my head;
Just one more sip
And I could slip
Between the living and the dead.

Now the homeless folks are crying
While the politicians steal;
And the animals are dying
And religion isn’t real.

The subfrastructure’s falling here
(Whatever the hell they said);
I’m still waiting for that Queen of Beers
To lie down in my bed.

Queen of Beers
Barley tears
Burning in my head;
I’ll have one more sip
And then I’ll slip
Between the living and the dead.

Where to go, where to go?
Through the yellow painted corridors
Contemplating things to come,
                        Or maybe not.
All the dreams of youth are cut short
But still live on in my heart
Beating off rhythm and then on.

Finding reassurance in things that are here,
                        And soon to be gone.
Am I living or just passing through?
In many things I need proof
Although in this I need only truth.

Here I am, here I go,
Passing through to Nevermore.

Acting calm, “All is fine,” I sigh
But in my mind waging war against divine
Red lights flashing to my eyes
                       Then in a blink it’s gone.
I keep it inside, my thoughts it divides
To call me sure would be a lie
Though, to this I will not die.

The billows of apathy surge over me
We have all lived and breathed
                        But how many have seen?
Not many, not too many.
Darkness will blind the eyes
Yet even in the light some need a cane to find their ways.

Here I am, here I go,
                        Passing through to Nevermore.

If I do break these chains what would be next?
Would I sit and wait for signs
                        Or waste away to nothing?
I want out to find my own Emerald City!
I know what I seek and I know defeat
Either would find me with no surprise.

Down the winding path I go
                        Passing through to Nevermore.