I like walking to see the man.

When the trees are stiff

and the clouds are glowing,

i take the high road up

to where creeks are flowing.

To where panthers sing, in

the darkest nights, to where shadows

are pythons and liken bites

when i can i see the man

i feel something inside me

bland, but beautiful,

second hand,

like a magic spell

in possum land, goannas

lizards, private lynx,

and kissen wizards

hybrid shrinks

when iv got a problem,

or my eye lid kinks

i follow the road

up to the skyward links.

Theres three roads,

once you arrive there well

theres one that will take

you up a plywood cell

and in this you scream

“take me to the dream

mr Pirolell!”

And if he hears you

in time youl smell

a clear blue gel, or feel a tear brew.

Well that is a bridge to enter your dreams.

—

The next road, the second, leads to

a humble abode with a pleasant

decadent essence. Inside this are

creatures that are big and

small, hairy and airy

ones, some are fairies holden

up librarians with scary guns

some are twisted toads with

bowed blisted noads

living life in a dark pit

solarium.

You must confront these

creatures to reach

the immortal bays

of the Pirolell beaches.

And here you will

be taught by the teacher

of teachers.

And that is the man i

walk to see.

—

The third road

you must tame an

insane hawk to walk

to the magic chalk board.

The bird is wanting to

**** those that wish

to write with the sword or quill, in spite

of it guarding its lord that is still.

If you can tame the hawk

than what ever you question

on the board with chalk will speak aloud

proud monstrous way,

and will discover all that is heavenly.

And youl realise that the man is fantasy.

It was the darkest night and a pilot was up high

swerving rain trying to be dry


eating a fine meal

with the leather wheel on his heel

kicking back singing seal

listening to the clicking rain on the wind shield.



A storm was at due,

it was the largest ever seen

many were calling it the meanest thats ever been



Windows were locked

houses were all dimmed

people were in a lock down

like a wild croc- hound' would pin.



Tvs were silent

streets were like graves

chapels were full of sinners

their bare supple soft knees were  dazed.



He was heading into a storm

he planned to meet the eye

he was nuts and he knew it

he was more crazier than high

he was in a place so dark not even a saviour would die

but he couldn't stand wondering so he took his plane to fly.



They don't know how he did it, those few who survived the storm

and it wasn't who you'd think

it was the homeless inked in zinc-

alone outside apartment links

throwing winks at a thousand bolt lightning kinks,

flashing high in the sky.



Wind lashing,

bottles crashing,

dancing in puddles

in a splashing fashion



trying to crash in to abandoned banks and cash in


but they knew there was more beautiful ways to die.



So they gripped the air and huddled close

and watched that drug plane fly to an overdose.

And they cried in rain and hoped it true

that friend who stole plane would come back in two.

I could tell you my dreams
you know i care
you fill me with shine
in the dark of despair.

Its an old rose on a cliff line
Its an unbroken wave at sea,
that could go on for eternity.

On the italian alps
a blizzard in a gail
the lands are cold see
its all seems so numbed and frailed

I’m out a’ walking down
an icy river road
theres a bear hanging round
i think my breathing slowed

Im off to summer land
where the children run free
where the sun is open
in blue sailing country

I'm a walking down this road
off around a white bend,
a might just see a star
a tree on Jupiter
i might friend.
White teeth, gold,
banquets, handsome green hills,
buffalos, rainbow brass knuckles and the frills
let my mind play all night
in the moon on that street
in that leather world babe
under the pearl light well meet.

I’m out a’ walking down
an icy river road.

Theres a Baptist church frame
empty of hearts and joy
plenty of sky above
like  an empty pool of coy
its energy is vague
its people once were alive
tourniquet windpipes alive in the velvet hide
they sung the words of richness
danced on illness
war chains like rains
flooding brains for some mystical temptation.
They severely wanted a way not to die,
so much that life solidified.
And took them.
They thought they had colourful plans
of cloud street *** pits
hundred yard flower gardens
manicured by a tanned super freak
of atomic wisdom.
Till a sharp bit of plasma burned them to the floor.
It was a summers eve 1957.
The breeze let off a little steam and sent them straight to heaven.

He wandered beneath the clouds
he looked up and saw black.
A storms coming. He said.


He Saw a large object.
When he finally came to it
he realised it was an ants shadow.


He threw his sharp stick
like a bolt of lightning.
Narrowly missing,
the kangaroo.