Everything is crammed into a second, and for a second, there's a thought that you may have passed into the beyond—a fleeting thought that evaporates as you open your eyes, and... bingo, it's the world again. What a surprise.

Dreams are an odd thing
some bring you happiness and joy
then
oh boy
some are full of mystery,
esoteric, exotic,

you
can't pick what you dream about.

You think that you're viewing
picture postcard towns,
but these are the hard towns
the men dyed in the wool towns
where no one ever gets full towns
poor places
children with gaunt faces
looking like old folk
and
towered over by the spires
of a higher power
and what good did that ever do?

gave them smallpox,
rickets and the flu
and what did they do?

they fukin prayed
thinking that'd save them
from Eliot's footman.

they tore them down
the old towns and
got shot of them,
good riddance,

but they're thinking up
new tortures,
be careful out there.

In the background
a siren
or
a car alarm
hard to tell with all that noise
but one or both are loud enough
to wake the dead,

I was awake ages ago
pains and such you know
too many late nights and
street fights
they all take a toll
but
I'm still rolling

wish the ache would stop
wish that noise would stop,

She says, darling
it's all in your head
and that would wake the dead.

Already and they're calling for another General Election, I have to ask, who in their right mind could possibly not think that the next shower to get into Westminster won't sink the already sinking ship?

I've been on this planet for long enough not to get excited by this kind of stuff, so my blood's not boiling it's barely lukewarm and basking in the lunacy of British Politics.

In other news
Someone posted a picture of their dinner which looked really nice.

What really surprises me, though, is that there is no Homeless Index on the stock market. These city boys can make money out of anything, and I feel quite sure that they're missing a trick here.

Well
I write some and some might call it poetry but whatever name it goes by, I try... and my life is calling from somewhere but ****** if I know from where there are too many variables or are they intangibles ( actually I thought you ate intangibles but turns out you eat tangerines)

jeeeeeez with a few eeee's  because I don't want to upset the devout who are apparently within and yet without.

Where was I?
oh yes
poetry
love it
probably more than myself
too many books on the poetry shelf,

I'm going or slowing
but never knowing
and that's good
isn't it?

Never mind
there's always another time
to shine,
oh!
you shone?
ah,
well the light was dim
and then it was gone,

never mind.