It's a malfunction we're not "up the junction" we are on the right track and if you've got my back and I've got yours, we will both be in trouble from
her sat indoors.
she can scold until your blood runs cold,you will rue the day that you hear her say,"what's going on here?"
Learn to fear her,don't go near her,for me it's too late,we had a date with a shotgun,I tried to run from the registrar but didn't get very far,her father was waiting,short fused with a rifle
and though he didn't choose me,she did and that's no trifle to trifle with.
She is possessive,aggressive and doesn't like any of my friends and you know how it ends when she calls out to say,
friends should know when to go and know when not to stay,it's the way and I know it,if I have a gripe she says,stow it, and I must toe the line
hmm
but I'm glad that I'm hers and she's mine, it makes the time we have together fine and we can weather any storm that could appear,
but you must
fear her.

Out of shape
I bend slowly
into an old
man.

Sat on the sand with my life in the palm of my hand and in the other a razer,at times being the star gazer is not nearly enough,not when you feel that things are cutting up rough,
but the blade is the ***** that will dig you a pit,why sit on the sand when you can be a part of the land?
You and your left hand with the right one not knowing if you're coming or going and the razer,
the razer like a laser light will cut you a piece of the night and there'll be no return,what you plan to do,you don't learn,
you're a fail,go back to the start again,it's your chance to begin again and feel more pain
or cut.

In my dream I was skiing through the mountains,
I'm free in my dream.
As I was going to St Kitts.

In the wilderness breaking where the mountains are shaking fresh snow from the peaks and the wolves were a crooning hoping soon there'd be food in,
hoping I'd be the meal on their table tonight,
came a light rolling softly through the valley below me and the pass opened through,to a view I would die for.

A lonely chateau stood proudly up on the plateau before me and in the windows I could see, a family at play,where the joy overwhelmed me,took the feet from beneath me and the skis became unnecessary as I floated through air.

Where, in the rules of a dream does it say that I have to return to the light of the day?I wanted so badly to stay,
but the alarm bell from hell set an avalanche flowing and in the flowing of snow across the mountains I go, back
to bed.

Five parts determination
four parts application
three parts perspiration
two parts supplication
one part trepidation.

Fifteen parts of adoration.

(20 minute poetry)

Popeyed
I look at the goil with the olive complexion
and the ink drips like oil from the well of my fountain
pen.

It was always the goil that Bluto desired as Wimpy ate burgers
looking awfully tired.

Though Popeyed I tried
to make Bluto see
that the goil in question
was the goil for me.

Lliving a cartoon is like life on the moon where there's no air to breathe, but being here where the atmosphere is rare unlike the burgers that Wimpy won't share
is fine.

The goil is mine and if I eats my spinach there will come a time
when I knock
Bluto out.

(It always sounds like goil to me when Popeye says it.

Last night she came into my bed
in the dead hours before the light snook into my eyes and through the shadows lined up like labourers on the walls in my head.
She woke me into another dream I'd had some years before and as I stuttered to form the words to speak to her,
she shared with me,
a picture,some melody I remembered vaguely
which though nice was rather sad.

Quite glad that being well prepared for these invasions of the night, I had snared a little spot,not too cold,not too hot and we could tot up what we got up too, as morning grew into the day it would become.

It's like I won some inter-universal game of chance,first prize,last chance of romance and I have glanced quickly through the rules,
as fool as I am,not sure how to be a man and anyway I never knew what the plan would be
or if entering this game of chance was free or would there be a fee to pay.
She took my mind away from thoughts like this and in that first kiss when my body being in overdrive felt like I'd arrive before I'd even left
she put me back to idle speed
and now in idling how I need her more to stamp the accelerator to the floor and race me on to that place where all doubts have gone and we will get there
in time to share cakes and teas and
indulge ourself in pleasantries.

Tonight I need her to come again
to come with me upon the dead hour train that speeds through lifetimes,through those windowed pains that although washed and cleaned have dreamed of sordid sights in more sordid nights and now
and now
the train of thought has stopped
this malady crops up from time to time
and I say that 'my memory's fine'
but then I would.
I want my caller in the night to think that I'm so good and not affected by that infection,age
she might
not notice line and wrinkles that twinkle in the star or moonlight
or she might.
I make light of this and wait for more,just one kiss more
one kiss I guess is more than less
one kiss
and then I sleep.

Life,
the optical illusion
a collusion between
the eyes and the brain, where the
mind finds in each season
a reason to continue.

Life,
a temporary abduction
a somewhat absorption
a potential solution and
why don't we
give it a go.

In the gallery of statues
men with granite eyes
think granite thoughts
on marble floors.

When you're heading into the unfathomable deep
it's hard to keep a perspective view.

There's a hole in my shoe dear Liza,
but
you've got me mending the bucket.

The old songs stand the tests of time
I sit and take mine.

In this sunshine
there are
as always the impoverished who strike out with careless hands for alms, dark of complexion and with faces crossed by the lines of their passing years.

The young one sits by the cathedral on the third step
perhaps tomorrow she will move a step closer, but for now, she rattles a tin, a few coins grumble noisily.

The sound of a mercy?

Even here in the most beautiful of places, there must be sadness and this is the balance of things.

A suited (albeit crumpled and old) gentleman sits by the gates of the museum and sings softly,
I listen to the music in his eyes and drop some coin into the cap so casually placed at his side.

And walking through these streets there are memories I make to bring home and taste of later.

Bustle
as the city lives
and in each
the dream
gives
new life.

Who walks with spirits of those who walked before walks with a measured pace.

I am too quick at times to notice anything but the footsteps.

I leave my shadow in these ancient alleyways,
a place to return to and renew friendships.

and now there's only empty space
lonely eyes
haggard face,

mothers ruin in a mug
I take a slug and
though not lead it
smacks me squarely in
the head
which is the
empty space inside
the haggard face.

All this and more and yet not me
not sure and never was
or was it forever meant
if ever to be
and empty space is
Schrodinger's preserve or
so
I'm led to believe.

I am weary of theory
and  need  to practice some facts but my theory is laid back whilst my practice is backed up and I need to  separate the will from the want to,the need to , yet can't do.
There is a circus inside me and the clown cannot bide me, inside the cannon you'll find me,a shot in the dark.
There is no theory for that and Einsteins equations fall flat as the big top gets taller and I seem to get smaller,so I do what I can't do and will what I want too but I see right through me into another identity and I pity the theory that tries to get near me..

Restless in her sleep she wrestles me, in dreaming deep of what is and what is to be, she takes hold, I see her fingers white and clenched, drenched with sweat,
and cool her brow, wonder how she has the strength to fight.
This night is like the other nights when we have fights and in spite of that the night is always spectacular for me,
in her dreams I can be her superman, not the 'desperate dan' I really am,
in her dreams I fly to her, take her where she wants to be,
she wants to be with me.

Then she wakes and wonders why, the tears I cry for her and I would die for her,
and tonight she will wrestle me and I will nestle close,
and close the light out
one more night bout.

I imagine
that if things do not change for the better,
of writing a letter to the Queen.

Have you seen where she lives?
what gives?
In a palace fit for a King there's a Queen, not that I've been,
I
was never invited to those black tie affairs,a statement it seems of my position in line to the throne.

I was delighted to hear that Prince Philip likes beer and Prince Charles likes a nice glass of Hock,then I was knocked for a six by one of those polo sticks when I heard who was third in the order of pecking,
let me tell you sincerely that it wasn't me,
not that I'd be averse to the role,I could see me in ermine,those robes made from vermin but that's a bit cruel, guess that's why I'm eating gruel and not freshly grilled trout,
and that's about it
though I'm not a royal, I'm loyal to the crown and though Liz let me down, I'll smile and not frown
but have you seen
where the Queen Lives?

Time but stoops to wrap its fingers 'round the trigger and,
shoots a hundred thousand years.
and I,
shot blast,
somewhere in the distance and my present past,
am cast in stone.
A statue to atone,
misgivings I alone would know and
time,
time to show trajectory.
PnF
the directions all about and me.
And equally a
Parabola,
a crab upon the shore,
scuttling now but there is
more to come.

I think I'll sink into the pit
return to take just one more hit
and another bit of
jazz.
Has anybody felt the same?
when thoughts of overriding shame override everything except the name
of the Devil that resides inside the syringe.
Does the thought of thinking make you cringe?
It's not a game
it's played for keeps.
When sanity sleeps inside the light and shades unmask the hidden night
where demons dance on a fingertip
I slip into a self destruct.
There's no saving me
the man inside the man can see
the killing of the man that was never meant to be.

And when everything looks so familiar,
the shouts,
'I'm coming out to **** ya'
don't worry me.
It's only what depression brings
When sad songs sing
when I can't suppress the hopelessness .

But I do confess
I really do.
Usually when I'm feeling blue and drained
I reign myself in tight one more slip into the night
and I am lost forever.
Never-Never land just isn't real
the deal that was laid upon the table
was a fable
unable to live up to my dreams
It seems it was a joke at my expense.
Though not dense I'm none too clever thinking I could live forever
in a tube
in a fix
a bit of jazz just does not mix
with life.

Someone is peeling the skin off the sky
the baked sun has begun its scratching.
I am hatching a plan to escape if I can
and to bathe in the sea
the scratching of skin never bothers me
if it's flaky and dry.
I want fins,want to swim to the end of all time
I need to find out what's there,what people would dare to reside
at the end of the tides,at the turn when times bides its time.

When the weather is fine and I'm feeling spot on
I feel I belong to the cosmos
because I melt into light where night never creeps through but with fins I could do
so much more.
I could bow and dip down to the ocean floor
I could knock on the door which Davy Jones locks
with a shock of blond hair waving here,waving there,I could meet up with Poseidon,try on a trident for size
I could open my eyes and could breathe underwater,could sort out the pearls from the shysters,those oysters that dive and make jewels out of grit where they sit and they filter.

I have built this dream from vanilla ice cream and am slowly licking it away
a cornet they say
plays a very nice tune
and Neptune agrees
as I float in the seas of the shore of no more and the sharks mill around as if they're knitting the sound of my death on their breath
which by the way stinks of fish.

My wish and I wish it comes true
is to sink into a heavenly bed
and to sink in it with you where the truth always lies
and the someone who peels all the skin off the skies
dies into the day
If I had my way
my wish would be your wishing too.

That little creep..
..on the seat with his feet on the back..
..of the seat in front.

..and I'm standing here.

I want to tongue lash his ear.
I want to give him a bat around the head.
Get up you **** and give me a seat instead.

But I stay silent and smile..
..in a very short while the little tyke..
will be as old as me.
Then we'll see..
..how he likes to stand.
Not so bleedin' grand..is it..little ****.

He's got all his life and I'm at the end
I'd like to send the little sod away..
..into the tomorrow of what became my today.

But I stay silent and smile.
File his face into a secret place..
..and I won't forget.
I bet he's thinking of marbles and conkers
While I'm still standing going ever so slightly incredibly bonkers.
Didn't he get taught to give up his seat on the bus..
..to old folk like us?

Little ****..but in a bit he'll be me

Haha, I laugh because then we will see
Just how he likes it.
Little ****.

Before I go..just would like to you know..
..he got up and said,
"Would you like to sit here instead"
Such a nice young man.

Island hopping,
life
never stopping to
draw
a breath.

Racing through the lace of the sky,
clouds shout, Hi,
I don't hear them,
only slowing when
the light goes green,
which is the witch in me
being awkward.

Backflow, forward in slow mo',
side, headlong dancing
I don't know
where this island hop will take me or
if I will go, just a crazy guy
getting it on with his mojo.

Life,
the last train to the last pain
you will ever feel,
dance slow and make it last.

They dragged the river twice
from bank to bank
a nice job for some.

Jimmy Dunn was bloated,full on fish and chips and mushy peas but then he eyed the apple pies and his eyes being bigger than his belly ordered that along with jelly and ice cream.
Leaning loudly on the groaning table and unable to make a start,he farted,then he ate some more, off Mr's Plumdore's a' la carte.
Again, he tried another start to get his day  up into gear,but parting from the food laid there was more than Jimmy Dunn could bear,so sitting down with more than most, he thanked his rather pretty hostess in the cafe, by the river Dee,
anyone with half a brain, would not have caused himself to gain such weight and I could see the enormity and the immensity of his big bulk.
Eventually he left his seat and plundered off along the riverside just as the tide was coming in,never saw the banana skin.

They dragged the river twice.

Capped in a can,
trapped by the man
and sold down the river,
I should have known better.

Getting it right
reading into the night takes much longer, but I'm making the coffee a bit stronger to help keep things moving.

And the days keep on shifting
I'm drinking a fifth in a quarter
of the time.

Places to go when in Cairo
places where I've never been,
not the usual tourist attractions, 
but the hot spots for hot spicy things.

Are the fleshpots still there?
he declared 
with that misogynist air,
are the girls just as nubile?

He was a throwback 
someone we all knew back 
in the day.

Nefertiti would meet me on
the banks of the Nile,
for a while 
in the reeds 
satisfying our needs.

Pyramids built from papyrus 
papering over the cracks.

Just dreaming of dynasties 
and the mysteries of
mankind on the 
riverbanks lined
by age.

If you're going to bow
kowtow to the ***** in this ocean that is life,
you'd better get a snorkel tube and lubricate your nether parts,
broken promises and the hearts that drown of those that bow down just float away,
if you're going to stay
stay tall
tread lightly
don't fall,
we all break and at times we all take a hit,
just keep shoveling the **** away,
if you're going to stay.

It's greener somewhere and the ocean's air is a soothing balm and the storms subside and it all seems calm,
somewhere
we'll get there
if we keep
paddling.

Someone put a sock in it
a
right old writers block on it
and I am fukin sick of it
I think I'm going to paint.

This ain't no picnic party
but I bet you'd like to
start me
on a drop of mothers ruin

I'll be ****** if I took one drink
so I'll drink a flaming hat full
it's so easy being spiteful
when you're three sheets
to the wind.

And then
what happens to me
are the links of chains run through me
and I forge a new opinion

if only
and another

and
if only is the other side of sixpence that we toss.

Then I tried to paint the candlelight,
believe me
it's much easier to
sit and write.

A bit skint,
so,
I thought a 3D printer could print me some dosh,
now I'm under the cosh and
heading for clink,
you wouldn't think it was right,
I might see if a 3d printer can
print for me
a file in a cake,
but it's got to be fake or
I'd
print for me
a sunny sea and golden sands,
in the hands of man a 3D printer can
be dangerous.

Of the pestilence, I write
in spite of or because of my love of
the equine
and not of the ***** swine,
the one of the four who sit on the hilltop,taking their fill until we drop and then they carry us away.

The four horsemen they say,you only see on the day,when at the end of your tether,you find yourself tethered to a weakening heart and as you gasp out your last,you can hear as they start,cantering slowly your way.

Pestilence and disease sit easily at ease on the saddle,and on his fingers cut with sores are the spores of my destruction which I cannot obstruct,
I'm ****** if I can and what was once a fine man is brought to his knees,by one of the four.

Now eaten away and the core of me being exposed,I compose a write,a light,a decomposition given the position I'm in and the position is this,
I can hear a pin drop as an ant pops the question
I can see the sky shy away as the night comes on out to play and the twilight does not have a say
in this, the slaying of a man,where only heaven can help me and only the devil would bother.

Give them oats,brush their coats and curry their favour,whatever you do will win you no favours,
The cantering horse will appear when the time of your end is quite near,
you cannot appease the one known as the pestilence who brings in the disease
known as death.

I was asleep outside the church door
when at a quarter to four
I get a boot in the chest
And a loud voice boomed out
"I think it's best
if you leave"

I quite sleepy, replied,
"Is it the bible that lied
Can I not sleep in the heart of my maker?
If not,
Then tell me who is it, that is my creator"?

A silence ensues then he shoos me away
I limp off to the methodist church
where more people lay
on the cold of the stone
chilled to the bone.

I don't blame God for my lot
for I'm in his plan
just a plot on his graph
and you've just got to laugh
when you see it like that.

We are the crossbeam
in the dream of a better day
and you'd better get used to it
you're going to see so much more of it
It's **** and you know it
do something about it or do nothing
and hope that tomorrow will bring
something more than a cold church stone floor
and a boot in the chest
I leave it to you
I'm sure you know best.

It's only a
burglar,
I wanted it
to be
Batman.

These young kids
look for but don't get it
thinking
Netflix,
boosting
kicks from butane,
got no patination
not old enough

but the last generation
seen it and
deem it
reprehensible
that secondary modern education
fails them because now they
think they're sensible

brawling on Friday night
crawling home
Saturday morning, they
have razors to shave with
high street banks they
can save with
but nothing to give them a clue.

I'm through with this ****
old enough now to sit out my days
in a tobacco filled haze and
gaze at nights full of stardust
because
somebody must
before it all disappears.

I'm turning into Louis Wain
going quite insane.
the cats complain
I do not hear.

Fear
the Devil and his deeds
for he will satisfy your needs
and then will ask for payment.
Content to be
insane that's me
my cats are all I see
and they're not real
they sit at tables playing cards
drinking alcohol.
In feet and yards they're streets ahead
purring, whirring round my bed
I cannot sleep
them dratted cats keep me awake.
I should take another leaf
become a thief
and draw the dogs
who hide behind my frosted eyes on worsted woollen sheets
made by ladies on the coast
in Brighton mostly but some do live in Shoreham by the sea
I love them and they do love me and they love my cats that's plain to see
except by me
I hate the little sods.
Making rods for my own back
I draw them toting haversacks
which they will surely fill with me.
I see it
The cats see it
the dogs are nowhere to be found
like lunatics they've burrowed under
formed the doggie parlour underground.
What glee
what medicine for me.
What time is it?
Oh half past three
I'm turning into Louis Wain
I've said that once but once again and just to let you know
I hate cats
they're so unpredictable.
Can't erase them when I've drawn them
It's almost as if I want to spawn them
I guess that's why I'm locked inside
behind the walls where madmen hide
with cats.

Cats stuck to window sills as languid as the rolling hills and craggy like the rocky tors
sheep sleeping underneath a portcullis of a sky
as steel grey clouds disguised as prison bars soothe
them gently with the Lakeland lullaby

I saw no Viking
but I did see hikers by the score
up the scree
scrambling up the tor

being me,
I wondered
what you doing that for?

Boats across the lake
too much
Kendal mint cake
and your jaws ache
take the Lilliputian train
we're toddlers
toddling off again

Such fun.

There is only this,
A smile, a kiss a moment in bliss
And it's gone.
Life wasn't supposed to last very long
And it doesn't surprise.

I have seen too many suns that have set in the East
And at least as many rise in the West.
Either Or,neither is better than the one gone before.
The day begins and will end as we bow and we bend in the wind,
Like corn in the fields or chaff in the meadow we blow,
To the breeze we must flow and in this we will know
It is time now to go.

There is only a one and ever, a kiss is forever
A moment of bliss is a lifeline.
In the fall and the rise of the dusk and the day
When night carries away your prayers on a wing
Sing to the skies.
Open your eyes
It would not surprise me that what you will see
Is the spirit set free.

And when darkness falls
Deaf to the calls of the day
Would we have it any other way?
Would we say one life is never enough to do all that living and loving and stuff?
Or would we know this,
That life is a smile and a kiss
The bliss is in the moments
We so often miss.

The psychedelic tricks in the
colours
that she picks and what
she wears,
I swear are
diamond rainbows
in her hair.

And glycerine gives
quite a sheen,
my fingers slip across her skin.
I
can never pin her down to plant a
kiss upon her shiny lips,
gloss drops and drips from fingertips and
the psychedelic
strips the night away.

I shrink and am in quantum and want them giants stood outside to go away,the shadows that they cast blot out the sun,this day is faded gray and I wait for the moon to rise so I can bay at it.
I sit in sepia feeling like weeping at the sadness that surrounds me,thoughts of several years gone by hound me and there is no rest,
so I continue to shrink into sub where quantum then becomes the giant,the hub,the wheel on which I spin and the pin is me.
Atomically and anatomically quite comically I raise a fist at all those times that we have missed like ships that pass,escaping gas reminds me that the meter's on the starboard side,where in the past I've tried to hold things in,
now I just let it out and if farting's what this life's about then why am I still here,is it growing that I fear and If I shrink so much I disappear,where will I be?
quantum says, mechanically,
well,
****** me I never thought of that.

He acts like he isn't worth saving
she watches
his antics,
it's just misbehaving.

To care for
be there for
to share and
still want more.

He acts like there is no tomorrow
she watches and saves every scene
and in cinemascope they abandon all hope
as together they fall into
the dream.

He wakes and takes a bit of time
to snort a little sweet white line,
left for him by Jackie who
gives him bed and board in Hackney, in
return for dealing dope on the
street they call
no hope.

He stays alive from nine to five by
working at the Superspar
where the metal in the trolley
and the face of Shirl'
the girl who comes in Saturdays,
(quite dolly in a lot of ways)
is far more rigid than he'll ever be.

He thinks about a break for tea but
the clock says only five past three
so
it's time for one more line,
then he looks again at the clock,the time
is five.

He speeds along on the crest of dope
back to the deals he seals,
on the street they call,
no hope,
and
back to Hackney where
he and Jackie,
make the time to slowly
snort
another line.

Oh Johnie,john,jo
far better the devil you know
than the words that grip and would flow down those avenues
where you could choose to tread upon with winged shoes or fly.

But you are tied to apron strings and this brings me to hereditary chance,
the things that we don't think about
but what makes us, what we're all about.
That little tweak that makes us speak the way we do
and a genetic whirl that makes my eyes so blue
a dance it's true
and we don't even learn a step
we get,
and what we get without a fight,
it is a humbling thought that from nothing,the nought we become the more,
and more than this,
kiss the devil goodbye though he may yet try to deceive you,believe me he's telling you lies,
that's his disguise and a good one too
but you can see through it
it's easy to do it
just open your
eyes.

This is life lived in the Kinema
on the outskirts of a town
called Eczema,
where the usherette flicks cigarettes
at the players in the pit, they
think it's ****
but we love it.

The owner, eyes like razor wire,
tongue tied puts the price of
entrance higher,
with a look from the hook up on the screen
I take a slice out of the scene and
catapult him from the frame,
all in the name of art.

In the interval, we fill the time by
smoking dope and drinking wine because
the Kinema is where we're king, where
anything goes and often will.

I didn't know
and
I told her so,
she asked again
I replied
the same.

Where do we go when we die?
she asked,
well,
obviously beyond the sky where
angels fly and cherubs sing
and everything you ever wanted
will be waiting for you,

is that true? she asked,
would I lie to you?
I replied,
she seemed satisfied
and went back to sleep.

I am Canada goose,
flying low,
hanging loose
with the flock.
I am Iroquois,
Panama,
hats off to
what you are,
hang loose with the pack and
we'll all make it back,
someday.

The ghosts are on the attack but I knew they'd be back..so
I armed myself with an amulet and charm..there's no harm in that..
..but those blasted ghosts are on my back.
They've never left me alone, even on the telephone I can hear them howl.
Foul beasts that they are.
I should get in my car and drive far away,speed through this night and into a day where I cannot be found.
But I'm an obstinate cuss so I shall stay,hold my ground.
I shake my fists in the air..there are ghosts everywhere.
Can you see what they're doing to me..they are driving me loopy, those spooky things
Which is what they intend
They want me to end...
..It all.

Wind and rain,sleet and snow,it's ****** cold and here we go,
the electric board says I can't afford to keep my heating on,so I had to switch it off,that's why I have a hacking cough and
I've got the bleedin' cold.
The gas man said,'you're in the red and there'll be no gas for you' so I sit here bloomin' shivering,
I think I might have 'flu.
Can't afford to heat or eat this world is cheating me,the odds are stacked and so I've packed,
I'll find somewhere that's free.
Free range,free change,fresh air for me,electric,gas and all for free and then let's see who comes out on top.
We're being jumped on,pumped out,put upon
and someone's getting rich,it feels like we are all in jail and we are someone's ***** and them credit scores and store cards hit me when I'm down,it seems like every time I sail into the town a sale sails into me.
I think I want to,must do,have to find somewhere that's free.

John Lee came home at ten to three and kissed his wife so easily and had some tea.
But Mr's Lee had other plans involving paint and lots of cans
oh dear me.
Stripping walls in halls and pasting paper was not the kind of weekend caper that would float his boat.
He grabbed his hat,put on his coat and in the farewell note he wrote,
a single line,
'next time you plan to decorate, my darling, better not to wait 'til Friday night,
a man's a right to relaxation without the need for decoration, just paint it white'
Mr's Lee was sad that he had gone but she knew that life would go on and so it went,
her time was spent in knitting mags and smoking endless cork tipped ****,
oh what a loss.
But she knew that she'd find one day a man that would quite clearly say,
'dear,
you're the boss'

Off limits,
five minutes
I'm in.
The original sin doesn't count towards karma, Krishna or Rama and nothing is barred to the one who breaks through,
who is it what do you do when the day breaks it breaks just for you
and I never knew it at all.
Off limits so call out the guards
throw down the cards that you hold
and ask for
one more
deal.
Nothing is real and that you can't steal, nothing is real only
the cards in the deal,
give me five minutes to mark out the limits of five minutes more and
I'm in,
look at me grin like a big Cheshire cat
I can do that and more
one more
deal.

Lidocaine
I lied again
not novocaine
but caning it
a bit.

Rolling up a dollar bill
to get my fill
of instant thrill.

The flash back drill
the door caves out
the cops come in
watching with a stupid grin.

In the 'nick' again
******* you
lido,novo, pro no caine.

And if I sink,and
sink I must,
in you and you alone
I trust.

I really didn't know her,
the woman who stood there
on the balcony,
calling to me,
Romeo
oh Romeo,
I had to go so I went.
She spent a fortune in words to stall me,
screeched like a fishwife.
I really
don't know life at all.

She let me down gently
but
it still ****** me
for life
mentally.

Caffeine
a pen
I yawn and then
yawn again

nothing flows out except
mothballs

cloth ears they called me
deaf to their pleas
but
I was as different as
chalk is to cheese.

I yawn once more while
weevils bore into my brain
and yawn again.

The snipers have got me
shot me on Monday
sometimes I wish
I was
Solomon
Grundy

then I fall
into the week
because I'm weak
or antique
couldn't hold on to
the
yawn again
dawning on me that
what I see is
what I'll be
by Friday.

I am freefloating now in the warmth of the waves that will take me somewhere and somehow,
I know this is right.
This is the desert where night rules,where only fools go,there is no map to guide me as I float along gently
being pushed,being pulled.
being lulled by the motion of this,the great ocean and somehow,
I know that one day
I will find the way.

The day knows that as the sun rises and glows,
all deserts will come to an end,
and the night that would send us to sleep reaps no more of the dream where in silent abandon I scream out your name.
She came and she went,spent a little time on the good things,but death brings no joy to the boy who is left on the shore,
raw and unpolished an essay unfinished,a book hardly started,broken hearted.

I am freefloating now in the warmth of the wave and no one can save me,
I am a slave to the will that would will me to go
but I know that one day
I will find the way
back.