When the dark days come
and a man searches
for high ground

like a lost explorer,
a man going nowhere,

a wanderer with no ballad,

a man who dreams
to the beat of the dark
night's drum

playing light
of the moon, yet
out of tune

like the gloom only a poet
feels alone in a cold room.

Love, I'm lost in typhoons scattered
to the fiercely rising wind,
where currents flow together
throwing my heart into a spin.
Now my mind is getting dizzy
from loops of ragged thought
as I follow what I see,
but what I do is not enough.
Go and strip me of my senses.
Scrub this essence to the core.
Deconstruct these walls and fences
with ruthless promises of more.

Love, I'm lost to tidal tempests
with emotions as the sea
crashing huge and reckless,
flooding every part of me.
Now my resolution's blurry.
I don't know what I've got.
My stomach's churning worry
to a frantic endless knot.
Go and ease this journey.
Build an island from my bone
reinforce it with some mercy,
where no one has to be alone.

Love, I'm lost to wildfires burning
up and down the golden coast,
destroying years of learning,
consuming what I love the most.
My lungs are getting heavy
from sighs and acrid smog,
from preciousness gifted already
to ungrateful, petty mobs.
Now I'm getting cold and numb
to the tragedies I see.
I'm stunned deaf and dumb,
and that ain't how it should be.
I'll go and get the shovel first.
Then dig a hole somewhere within.
Deep enough to be immersed
in the fountain 'neath my skin.

Love, I'm lost in my own universe,
and don't know if I'll see you again.

Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labor to admit you, but O, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
but is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy.
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor even chaste, except you ravish me.

I WANT YOU - I'M HERE AS ALWAYS,
LET'S THINK OF YOUR DAY TODAY - THEY SAY
THAT A WALK IN THE SUN IS GOOD, CAST
OTHER THINGS ASIDE - I KNOW YOU CRIED.

I KNOW THAT YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO;
ANNE TALKS SO MUCH THAT I NEARLY MISSED THE GULF WAR,
YOU SEE, WE HAVE TO DEAL - I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL,
HOW DO I KNOW? I'VE BEEN THERE, I'VE FELT LOW.

I'LL WRITE A WORD NOW AND THEN - IF I
HEARD YOU CRY - PICK UP 'COMFORT,' YOU'LL KNOW
I'M THERE - YOU'LL SAY: 'WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
I SAY: 'THINK OF GREEN AND RED - NO MORE BLUE.

THINK OF ORANGE AND PINK - HOW NICE YOU LOOK,
YOU'LL WONDER WHY JUST HOW LONG IT TOOK.'

you will evaporate
in the end;
cloud riding blue skies

Paranoia inducing
thuds echo
through the walls
they're right behind
according to the sounds
evidently not
claim my eyes
dam rice paper walls.

You can
start a fire
without knowing how
to build one

WHAT DO YOU GET IF YOU CROSS A ******
WITH AN ESKIMO? ANSWER: YOU GET A MASSIVE
VASSAL WITH A PASSIVE TASSEL AND A FRIGID
****** WITH WITH A RIGID DIGIT. COLD COMFORT.

DO YOU LIKE IT IN CIDER? THERE WAS A BIG
BLACK HAIRY SPIDER WHICH CHASED JUSTIN G.,
DON'T YOU SEE THAT'S SO COOL - SO APRIL FOOL!
OF THE NILE A JEWEL, NOW I'LL DROOL AT YOUR POOL.

I MUST BE EMOTIONALLY OFF COURSE, OF COURSE
IT'S NICE TO EXPAND YOUR HORIZON, PUT EYES ON
DIFFERENT THINGS, DIG INTO WHAT'S BENEATH, YOU
MAY NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT'S ABOVE YOU UNTIL
SOMEBODY SAYS THAT THEY LOVE YOU.

LET'S HAVE SOME NO SADNESS, LOTS OF GLADNESS
EVEN THO' THERE MAY BE **** IN MY MADNESS.

NOT ALL POETRY SHOULD BE ABOUT DEPRESSION,
LOVE, WIND AND TEA-CUPS - I PREFER TO BE
THE DONALD TRUMP OF THE POETRY WORLD:
SEEMINGLY ILLITERATE, OBSCENELY DISSOLUTE,
UNINFORMED, SOCIOPATHICAL AND FALSELY MAGICAL;
SOMEONE SAID THAT, 'WE HAVE A DUTY TO
IMPART KNOWLEDGE,' I DID NOT ENTIRELY AGREE,
NOT ALL OF US ARE SUITABLY QUALIFIED AND THOSE
WHO ARE NOT MAY PASS ON THEIR OWN MISTAKES;
A TEACHER MISSPELT THE WORD '*******,'
AND NOW HALF THE TOWN IS WRITING THE WORD
BOLLUCKS INCORRECTLY; THOSE WHO CAN, DO AND
THOSE WHO CAN NOT, JOIN THE RADIO -LIKE CERTAIN
PRESENTERS, IT RINGS, WHO SEEM TO HAVE KNOWLEDGE OF ALL THINGS.