From the darkness, Samedi rises,
it is our souls that he prizes,
to feed upon and to focus,
its how death does his hocus pocus.

Cancer, diabetes and the rot,
not diseases but things time forgot,
freed again as humans spread,
increasing the numbers of our dead.

Buried things lay hibernating,
thousands of years, they have been waiting,
legends and myths and dragons too,
we simply do not have a clue.

Once awoken, no turning back,
we are running down the track,
pandora's box thrown open wide,
nothing at all can stem the tide.

The fingers pricked,
the blood, it beads,
our body lies,
about its needs.

Pancreas and liver,
all worn out,
excess energy stored,
we scream and pout.

Blood so sweet,
just like a pie,
full of fat,
leads us to die.

In moderation preached,
but hard to follow,
so we weep,
in obesity wallow.

To eat for fun,
it is a pleasure
but it ends our life,
the one we treasure.

Trapped in my asylum,
locked are all the doors,
my mood bounces up and down,
off the walls and on the floor.

From depths of hell,
to manic's peak,
away from this,
away I seek.

The ball of rubber
in a concrete pit,
perpetual ricochet,
I guess this is it.

Frowns and smiles,
and frowns again,
like changing masks,
the shape I'm in.

Time is dripping from the clock,
slowly filling up our lock,
as we float we slowly rise,
hopefully, there is a future prize.

On the day that it has filled,
our current life we will yield,
flowing into the next stream,
like shifting places in a dream.

Golden beak pecks at the bars,
longing to glide among the stars,
yet here it is trapped inside,
but on the breeze, it yearns to fly.

As others do so blissfully
it watches them so wistfully
knowing that it only learned
to hide from the sun or feel it burn.

With its pecks and sun and rain,
the old steel bars begin to change,
orange rust, it begins to thin,
just perhaps, a future win.

A lifetime watching them with ease
outside alive upon the breeze
second-hand freedom flying
high above as it sits crying.

And then finally the steel gives way,
spread her wings on this day,
Not trapped anymore soaring free,
amazing what her eyes can see.

Cumin and Chile scent the scene,
the encounter was quite mean,
knives and tools spread around,
you should have heard the slicing sounds.

Piles of orange and white offal lay,
like pathology samples on the tray,
now crooked grins and odd shaped eyes,
stare from the darkness, quite surprised.

There's a beep and a rush,
just be careful don't get crushed,
everyone reaches on to the pan,
we are all toasted pumpkin seed fans.

Comments and ideas
smeared on train cars,
telling stories of life,
tags of love and anger.

Art amongst the people,
approval is not required,
some look in awe,
others in disgust.

It takes all kinds,
I'm not sure it does,
however,
we have all kinds.