Simple, Ignorant and
Violently happy.
A lifetime’s days
In a daze.
A crippled ornament,
Deliriously mad, he
Threads a love theme
Through all his plays.
He’ll leave all his senses slowly
’Til each falls away with a sigh,
And the last of these will be Glory,
As the living lorn smiles, he’ll die.

But pause for a second to sing
And point the way with his eyes
To where the children of Art-her Kings,
Dance drunk round a furnace of cries.

It’s a little bit of something

It’s a little bit of somewhere

It’s a little bit of someone

Singing ‘Hallelujah, Take me there.’

There’s a little boy waitin’
And he’s holding on tight.
His open eyelids failin’
Him before the day’s first light.

There’s three men waitin’
They’re walking all night.
By the end of the page
They’re dazed, praising what’s
Before their eyes.

A young woman is wakin’

Each night with a fright.

Her room she’s pacin’

Facing fears about her own little life.

There’s an old man waitin’.

Pots o’ tea all night.

He’s alone in the country

Without company, or sugar or sight.

There’s a little bit of anger
There’s a little bit of pain
There’s a little bit of loving
Smoothing over us all
And bringing us back again

It’s a little bit of something

It’s a little bit of somewhere

It’s a little bit of someone

Singing ‘Hallelujah, Take me there.’

Tell me when,
We will never speak of
Soft things again.
Of ice-cream in the
Park and holding hands.

Then... I’ll be chewing
Pins and blades
And hurting friends.

******* my name
Into the sand.
‘ Deck, the wreck,
with his neck
unpecked in months.

Needing always needing.
Feeling always feeling.
Bleeding always bleeding
From somewhere where he
Can fit his hand into
The wound, feeling
For his heart,
His soft
Unsought after heart-
Festering with prejudice,
Jealousy and self-pity.
How accomplished?

Tell me when,
We will never speak of
Soft things again.

How you look in candlelight.
How you feel
In my arms at night.
When I see you breathing in your sleep
You mean the world to me.
There’s no pleasure like your touch
My hand misses yours so much.
Tell me that
You’re coming back
We can’t leave it... Like that
Just don’t leave it... Like that.

Buddha’s at the bar
Skulling pints and starting fights
And causing war.

Gone too far.

His life isn’t real
It’s just a dream
Of those in need
Like you and me.

We’ve gone too far.

Sonar stones are thrown
Across a street
And running feet
Are running Home.

Homeless Bones.

Kids are telling fibs
About his nibs in No.3
Who never sleeps and lives alone.

Home alone.

Buddha’s makin’ sense
About the tense unhappy men
Who drink in bars
And write on walls and smokes cigars.

But we haven’t time
To clean and shine.
So up we get
And dodge our debts
And place our bets
And close our eyes.
All will be fine...
Hope it’s fine.

You’ll want your God to close his eyes

        And forget he ever had a memory,

When you hear what’s on my mind

Sexually unsavoury.

The darkest deepest dream

To ever creep into a sleep,

Peacefully obscene,

That will wake a guilt so sad

Relentless prayers on tap

And each sincerely crafted

Will seep into insignificance

To bring tears from the devil’s heart.

Every drop of adrenalin

Will freeze and run no more,

For the label on such a deadly sin

Is ‘rotten to the core’


But why be afraid of your thoughts

It’s hard to understand

Or should forgiveness be sought.

In the space between light and dark, are you waiting? In the space between silence and sound, are you there? Please come and hold me now. I try so hard to let go. I struggle so hard to be soft. I tumble unmercifully. My stomach insists on the last threads to my mind. Hurry. Bring sleep. Then, if not, please be waiting for me in my sleep. Peace.