What is this? Is this addiction,
    that strange and sorrowful affliction,
a yearning for a certain friction,
    grasping like a seed to light?
What if now, in place of sinking,
    I fell apart and started thinking -
looking at myself unblinking -
    is this what I need tonight?

The cheerless man walks through the crowd of nameless, shapeless faces
Moving swiftly, loud and rough, to more familiar places
He has a lot of things to do, so has no time to smile
His life is far too serious to lighten up awhile

And though he sees what’s going on, he still wears his dark coat
He turns his back upon the world and hums a weary note
He disbelieves in anarchy; he has to have routine
And in his haste to get things done, he leaves the world unseen

The cheerless man goes on and on; he never seems to stop
He knows his dedication could well help him reach the top
The cheerless man works steadily, no time for smiles or fun
He makes no space for anything; his work is never done

And every day is just the same for solemn, cheerless man
From home to work and back again to where he first began
And though the cheerless man leaves all his cheer upon the shelf
He still goes on in his small world, chuckling to himself

A summer breeze and myrtle’s tang
The streets are misty from the rain
They underneath the street lamps hang
So tell the boys come home again
And cease with their romancing

Calliopes of burgundy
Obstructing all the sounds nearby
So which way must I look to see
The wind-swept swallows swoop the sky
And watch their joyful dancing?

There’s pleasure there in peeking up
The heavens churning, brown in hue
So let the raindrops fill their cup
And let us hold each other to
Prevent the dusk advancing

Thus incense sweeps the streets with calm
The leaves are laden down with dew
As evening gently takes my arm
And leads me through my thoughts to you
For no one’s more entrancing

depressed days suggest pressed dazed
repressed separated deep sped dressers
dearest speed reddens undressed reeds
nursed desperate stressed depressors

I gave my girl a gift -
a dandy wee device:
a piece of string! A marv'lous thing!
But yet, she weren't at ease.
She seemed, I must admit,
a little... well... let down by it,
so this is what I said to her,
in order to appease:

"You see," I said, "my sweet,
if you take your end, yes,
and tie it to your wrist, and I
tie mine to mine in kind,
we'll never be apart.
Just think, and listen to your heart -
entangled thus, the two of us
will always be entwined!

This single strand of string
can be the bond between
the two of us, no matter where
we go or what we do -
for if you go astray,
or I grow far too far away,
this piece of twine will be divine
to guide me home to you."

Her laugh was long and loud.
She held her hand up high.
"That's great," she said, "but I'm not sure,
and yes, I could be wrong -
but if I am so bold,
I think it's time that you were told:
in case you hadn't noticed,
this string's barely one foot long!"

"You got me good," I grinned.
"It's all part of the plan.
You see, if I connect us two,
and tether heart to heart,
I'll always be in reach.
I do beseech you heed my speech.
A foot's the furthest I could ever
want us both apart."

She frowned her furrowed brow.
She eyed me, eye to eye.
"I'm not your dog, you wacko!
Leave me well enough alone!
You visit me each day;
each time I tell you, 'go away',
but somehow you still think I'm keen
to be a thing you own."

She soundly slammed the door.
I walked my way back home.
I so wish she would smile at me
and lead me to her room.
But I can heal the rift.
She's sure to love tomorrow's gift:
a teddy bear, with fluffy hair,
and eyes that I can zoom!

here's to the girl who caught his eye
the one he never had
always in his back of mind
forever dormant, undefined
but ever since they said goodbye
the thought had grown sad
the one he never had
here's to the girl who caught his eye
aye, the girl who caught his eye

here's to the girl who broke his heart
the girl he loved and lost
there for him when no one was
who stuck around him just because
before she ripped the world apart
and lived to see the cost
the girl he loved and lost
here's to the girl who broke his heart
aye, the girl who broke his heart

here's to the girl who loves him still
the girl who never strayed
through thick and thin she spurred him on
and even though he now is gone
and left her nothing in the will
she stands there, poised and staid
the girl who never strayed
here's to the girl who loves him still
aye, the girl who loves him still

a vinyl dream a boy once had
stacks of roses t
                            o
                              p
 ­                               p
                                ­  l
                                    i
                       ­               n
                                        g
      ­          d
                   o
                      w
                          n
                      to the worms
                a sed(im)entary soul (reaching a stolen heart)
rebuilds
      and from the black slurry
                      a yellow rose

              aliveinthemoment (as ever he was
alive)

There’s nowt exceeds the speed of light,
except perhaps bad news,
which travels ‘round the world and back
ere light puts on its shoes.

Consider that; a life that's dead
   without a voice that's raised in song,
and no sweet chorus in one's head.
   Consider that; a life that's dead;
what would a person do instead?
   No music marching them along?
Consider that; a life that's dead
   without a voice that's raised in song,

Consider this, a life of pain
   and torment, full of ancient grief;
no joyfulness can it attain.
   Consider this, a life of pain,
amounting to a curdled brain
   inside of which there's no relief.
Consider this, a life of pain
   and torment, full of ancient grief.

Consider all: a life so dark
   that even night provides no match,
but hides in search of moon or spark.
   Consider all: a life so dark
the mind grows only cold and stark,
   destruction as its only catch.
Consider all: a life so dark
   that even night provides no match.

Consider what the wisest say
   in terms of lives a person leads;
to tread the path and never stray.
   Consider what the wisest say,
but if you dare to lose your way,
   be careful not to trip in weeds.
Consider what the wisest say
   in terms of lives a person leads.

You forged a map
  whilst quite unaware
    that he was in want of direction,
      and though he was lost
        and close to despair,
he mustered his will and he made a connection.

You spoke of an age
  from aeons ago;
    a harmony sweet to his ears.
      Though sep'rate by worlds,
        you drew him in slow
and extinguished his nerves and his bleakest of fears.

You opened yourself up
  to him like a rose,
    when discord and tension were rife,
      and gifted him naifly
        with welcome repose
when you entered his otherwise workaday life.

You flooded his thoughts,
  a tempestuous storm,
    your tales of love as his guide,
      and whilst he took your lead
        and began to transform,
he learned to catch starlight with you by his side.

And how can he thank you
  for touching him so,
    when he still barely knows who he is?
      The best he can do
        is to write you a verse -
a mainline direct to your heart, from his.

emotions
turn
hazy
and
nobody
objects to
love

He perched upon his steely throne,
beset by plebs and debtors,
and made his judgement, more astute
than any man of letters:

"This usurper who bears no name -
he never sees the sun,
and thus daren't start his daily toil
'til evening has begun.

'Til the twilight bell doth knell
the pastures he'll surrender,
for in this land of habitudes
he is their one defender.

A rider came, with news; he has
conferred with his committee -
the dastard has concieved a plan
to **** and raze this city.

As such," continued on the king,
"'tis well within my reckoning
that any decent gent would not
to such a man be beckoning.

And therefore," he went on, "I do
declare that he and we are foes -
so, rally, soldiers! Go ye forth!
Let him regret the path he chose."

But you see
The fact is
You have to understand
Really though
If you weigh it up
I have to say
If I'm being honest
What it is
To tell the truth
Well actually
To be clear
But truthfully
When all is said and done
                                                      
     ­                                                     How do you know?

Finish the music you're playing.
I'll wait.
I'll never get weary
of hearing the melodies
you and your fingers create.

Finish the canvas you're painting.
My heart
fills up with such pride
inside when I see
how much joy you put into your art.

Finish the poem you're writing.
It's time.
I long for a day when
the grey leaves your mind
and you hit on the perfect rhyme.

Finish the book you started.
It's worth
the pain you'll go through
to do what you love
and gift sweet conception with birth.

It's just a sandbox of reality,
a temporary timeshare, ours for now.
So what if, by some staggering degree,
we've simply let it go awry somehow,
and left the land in tears,
ignoring all the knowledge that we did
acquire through the years
to shuffle on, bemused by life, amid
the Ev'rests of destruction that we leave?
Yea, better that we humans all were rid,
to gift her with the time she needs to grieve
and banish all her fears.

This self-destruction is, you must agree,
a crueler tribute than we can allow.
She's just a sandbox of reality,
a temporary timeshare,

ours -

for now.

you
once told me that
until we met,
rarely did you
ever recieve

and/or deserve any

form of
unconditional love,
care, or
kindness, while - even
in my chilliest nights -
never did you have
grace enough to

consider returning such
understanding. at least,
not to me. well,
times change...

In from the rain the barber comes,
and shimmies off his jacket.
His customers' hair
is already there,
waiting for him to attack it.

Swish! Slice! Snickerty-snack!
Face the mirror, forwards!
How ya bin?
Tilt your chin -
the hairs fall to the floorboards!

Happy birthday to you
Now you're thirty and greyed
Enjoy your new wrinkles
And I hope you get laid

She'd written a verse
   on wandering love;
      of hearts that yearned to stray--
         it spoke of home, and now I yearn
            for all that she has
               to say.

.                                      m                   m                   m
                                      a                     a                    a
                                    ­ e                     e                    e
                                  ­  t                     t                    t
                                   s                    s                    s
                               BOAT           BOAT           BOAT
                              BOAT           BOAT           BOAT
                             BOAT           BOAT           BOAT
                            BOAT           BOAT           BOAT
I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat
    I'm a boat                                                             ­     I'm a boat
        I'm a boat                O         O         O               I'm a boat
            I'm a boat                                                  I'm a boat
                  I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat toot toot I'm a boat

in my room
a sunday afternoon on the island of a burgundyacidparadise dream
the pinch and push of human faces, cartoons shrinking rainbow triangles
a glance to the drawer - melting, melting(is it a bear or an eagle?)
the music echoes in a head room full of autumn sun
clifford brown cutting the light and springing joy
books floating, books falling, books fluttering fractal butterflies
and the painting flows together and becomes one
lanterns shooting dragonfly dots above the piano
hot, hot, the fan exists and fades, roars (did i speak just now?)
chemical reaction inside a chemical reaction
trip along with the music let it guide
and shake it out when it goes dark
drip into the wall ripples (is there a storm? or is it the fan?
which direction is the door? and where is the incense blowing?)
take it fagen, take it becker
time out of mind indeed
handprint, faceprint, dust in a yellow tint
don’t want me to leave that’s fine by me
lie down and let it take me where it wants to go
lyin tyga in my head
push me down upon my bed
cancel out the need for time
and make my visions warm
sublime as a sunflower
a spiral leaf of hummingcomb
water, water, fizz, fizz
take me where the sunset is
(how did i get outside)no noise
getting calmer but just as beautiful
in my room

i can
never
sleep...
or
maybe i'm
never
in truth
awake

It seems to me a sorry thing,
   the damage that a love can do;
for all the joy that it can bring,
   it seems to me a sorry thing,
since whilst a heart it maketh sing,
   it promises to rend it too -
it seems to me a sorry thing,
   the damage that a love can do.

did you
      tonight
   come dance
ever believe
      is the night
   the eve
that anything
      you come
   away
could feel
      out of
   with
this right?
      your shell
   me

loneliness is just nostalgia
with a certain melancHoly
singular in form and yet
ubiquitous in mankind's folly

lonelinEss is frank aliveness
knowledge pure and terrifying
often coming, rarely going
self and ego freely dying

Loneliness is distilled dreaming
bottled by the ancient sorrows
sculPted to an angry brew and
full of ifs and lost tomorrows

loneliness is midnight meals
Microwaved on plastic trays
and eaten with a bitter sigh
to pass away the empty days

and loneliness is self-deception
Ev'ry time we draw our breaths
for we forget we call the shots
yet still crash blindly t'ward our deaths

lately, all
of my
veils have
evaporated,

laying bare
once-hidden
vistas and
emotions,

leaving me
open and
vulnerable to
either being

loved by you,
or simply
vanishing into the
ether.

Mary had a little lamb,
two lobsters and a Christmas ham,
a three-pound tub of chicken wings,
seven bratwurst tied with strings,
thirteen loaves of garlic bread,
a schnitzel bigger than her head,
four rare steaks, a dozen eggs,
caviar and turkey's legs,
strips of bacon, mushroom stew,
chunks of bread and cheese fondue,
and two whole jars of sauerkraut,
(to clean all of her insides out).

Finishing the pasta salad,
Mary soon looked drawn and pallid.
"I don't feel well," poor Mary said.
"I think I need to rest my head."
Then from her stomach came a moan,
a straining, churning, twisted groan.
Mary gasped; her eyes grew wide.
She'd only seconds to decide.
What could she do? Where could she go?
Her stomach was about to blow!
So, reaching for the nearest bucket,
she retched, and then began to chuck it.

All the courses that she'd swallowed,
and the apertifs they'd followed,
all the steaks and all the fish,
each and every single dish
came flying back from in her belly,
filling up the bucket smelly
with a foul and toxic brew,
and no one knew quite what to do,
so this went on for ten whole minutes
till Mary had expelled her innards.
When she was done, her eyes were red,
and sweat was pouring from her head.

"Are you alright, sweet Mary dear?"
her mother asked. She didn't hear.
For Mary was already off -
the waiters saw her try to scoff
the whole entire pudding bar.
Now, this had pushed her mum too far.
"Alright!" her mother cried, "I'm through!
I've done the best that I can do.
I'm sick and tired of all you eat.
I will not pay for all this meat.
I'm going home. Go get some help —"
Then Mary's mum let out a yelp!

She glanced down at her legs and saw
sweet Mary there begin to gnaw!
She struck the lass, but with great haste,
alas, the girl had reached her waist.
As Mary's ma was there devoured
by her offspring, overpowered,
she cried one thing ere final slaughter:
"It smells like lamb in here, my daughter."
Mary licked her lips and grinned.
She belched out loud and then broke wind.
She felt her tummy start to rumble -
and calmly ordered apple crumble.

Oh don't mind me. I'll
just keep quietly dying
here out the inside

i left the house just after midnight and you were returning
brief warmth as i passed you with him in the doorway
(am i wrong)worlds between us revolve in contradiction
and you played with his hands as i glanced, mourned, and departed
and it seems peculiar as time goes on that i should still think of you in this way
(what am i missing)you persist in myself,clutched to my heart like ice in my hand
and all i can think to say is that if i were to see the milky way’s circumvolution with the eyes of van gogh;
to hear a nightingale trill in delight with the ears of debussy;
enjoy the sweetest of wines and the warmest of nights;
the fiercest of romances and the harshest of wounds;
these would be to nothing
as you are to me
(and if my heart still stops when you stun my skin with your touch
and my breath
catches
deep in my chest
you,my sweet love, have moved me more than the entire heart-rending terror and beauty of existence)

I left the horizons
  for fear I would miss
    the evening stars set there
      so if your horizon sinks
        to the abyss
          mine are all here for us both to share.

I captured the starlight
  to jewel my eyes
    and dazzle the folks who'd see,
      but should your eyes tire
        of empty skies
          I'll glitter them fain with stars for thee.

A chocolate box, a show'r of roses,
passes by a hundred noses,
losing quick its scent or taste,
and its sweet colours nigh erased.
So therefore, I thought I’d be smart
and write an octave, from the heart,
for words won’t fade, as colours do,
and mine are written just for you.