Empty rooms filled with ash
no windows left to smash

Ask me about *****
at the Pitcher & Piano
a woman sits angular
snow swirls in her face
the Tundra, a riot, an Izba
or a Romanov's Faberge egg
Lean into this moment
the curve of it's being
like a sail into the wind
or the Bering Strait neatly
amongst Icebergs
Canada
Marylin
The Niagara Falls
a Geologist's contentment
a backpack & a tent
ink& a compass
Omai resplendent

* Izba - a country hut ( russian)
* Omai - Mai, the second pacific Islander to ever visit Britain in the late 1700ds who became popular in London's high society

The forest never
asks where it is
it always knows the way
be like the forest

It's not what you said
it's what the rain meant
it's not what you did
it's how the stars didn't shine
when you left

I.

Ich gehe durch die jardin des oiseaux
ya i ti v kopkane no tyebe vsye ravno
how do these things rhyme, I ask in awe

( I walk through the bird garden
  you and I are in a trap but you don't care
  how do these things rhyme, I ask in awe)


I.I

Ne pas les choses
die sind dies das
are long,long gone
kogda mi smotrim
v dal and pick and choose
another muse to fall.

( these aren't the things that are those that are long, long gone
when we look into the distance and pick and choose another muse to fall)



III.

Ni kliuch
non, non
die sind nur Traume
that we don
over and over

(no key, no, no these are but dreams that we don over and over.)

Sometimes in the dark
you stumble
before the morning lark

calls out to the smart
you mumble
sometimes in the dark

faintly beats the heart
sensing trouble
before the morning lark

calls for the day to start
we blunder
sometimes in the dark

trying to make their mark
our thoughts rumble
before the morning lark

All is but a house of cards
& about to crumble
somewhere in the dark
before the morning lark

Never did a rose
bloom so sweet

                                                          ­                                              all complete
                                                        ­            with mascara & tracksuit bottoms

                                                        ­                                    bubble-gum brains
                                                          ­                                   hooked to her ipod

' Whatever happened to the days
of vinyl players'

                                            sighs her grandmother
                                                   & pours her

                                                            ­                                  another cup of tea
                                                             ­                                        she sneers

& leaves
later she's chasing

                                              paper aeroplanes
                                              smoking hashish

                                                        ­                           & stinging the bad  boys
                                                       ­                                           with her thorns.

her scars are hidden
in plain sight of eternity