It's never what you think you think
and always what you don't,
surprised to see me?
she says no.

We won't dwell long on things gone wrong
let us move to a house by the sea
we can spend our time catching fish
and drinking wine
and frying chips for the fish for our tea.

Because we still have a tea don't you know
some things are hard to let go of.

But it's never what you think
when
the drink takes a hold
no
it's never what you think at all.

When the ampersand means more to men and the sword
becomes much mightier than the pen
it's time to leave Mesopotamia alone and
travel down the river, home
to the sea.

That which fires me is the devil that
tires me and the hot rod which wires my brain
I have cycled it before in the orbits I adore
and would do it all again
despite the heartache, the pain, the scars,
the sleepless nights, the drunken fights
the girls I've loved and left
the girls who loved and left me
that which fires me
is that which I am and will be

if there's an Amen due you can say it.

When a butterfly dies in the Amazon and the horizon's at half past three and the bell rings for ***** to do her tricks,
that's the place I'm unlikely to be.

There's a saying they say, but I'm not sure why and I'm unsure as to what it might mean,
so I pay all my taxes to Elizabeth and swear by 'God save the Queen'

If the monkey that bothers me bothers you then don't bother to bother me at all
I am sure you've got your own monkeys and equally sure that you all have a ball.

If in poetry there must be a story
some sacrifice maybe some glory
then
nail me to the door
I won't write anymore or any more or Demi Moore, Roger Moore, Ilkley Moor and sometimes more but always with a touch of semaphore to keep the sailors happy.

the sun grins at me from behind a cloud and the day begins, cloaked in mystery is better than being cloaked in a monastery unless of course, you're a Monk.

Thursday is an okay kind of a day
not as good as Friday unless it is 'Good Friday'
which it wouldn't be on a Thursday,

see how I struggle to cope?
there is no hope without coffee

the sun's still grinning at me,
today will be okay.

The wind is whistling,
out of tune I might add,
mistaking it for the kettle
I got out of
bad
or should that be bed?
shaking my head to dislodge the sleep
my eyes start revolving
the sugar turns blue and
it's me in the cup
wondering why I'm
dissolving.


Ridiculous is four steps to the right
I've been there
was there
sharing a night with the lamp
tightening up with the cramp
and have you noticed
anything odd?

if the door when ajar is not a door
where did it go?
how will you know where to exit or
enter?

When the day breaks
who covers up the cracks?

He
who cements commandments
to medicaments
and buries parliaments
in liniments
knows about the life in tenements
how to
fight from the battlements
He who
gives the final sacraments
on Sunday in the first aid tents

who is He anyway that separates the night
and makes the day pay ransom?

A handsome man I'll wager.

There's the thrift shop and
that's the pop the weasel shop,

this is the high street
a bit down on its luck
and these are the councilors
who don't give a ****.

(Grammarly suggests I put a question mark after ****,
so I did, ****, off Grammarly)

I am wondering when
they'll start building again
or have we run out of bricks?


The economy appears to have had
a hysterectomy and
someone will **** me for this.

Like yesterday
today
is another rest day,
but on the frontline
they're putting in
more time
so
we can get
more time
out of life.

Depress the levers
repress the thoughts,
it's a game of noughts and crosses
sometimes X equals minimal gains
sometimes O equals maximum losses

analogy?
says something about me,
but I can't think what.

Slipping through the haze
a map of the maze of my days
in my pocket,
not looking at it,

searching for the new
rifling through the obsolete
finding things to do
just
slipping through the haze.

I still see them with their faces
squashed into empty syringes
almost lifeless with less life to
live every day,

like a recurring nightmare
they're
always somewhere there,
in shop doorways, park
pathways,

she's
laid out for the undertaker,
no one can wake her,
he's clucking, no luck in
finding his dealer,

I steal away,
steer clear and try to forget
I was ever here

Almost there but not quite yet
watching Boris via the internet
and I agree
a license fee should be payable
to me
for watching him
giving it large
telling it grim

I'm gone fishin;

losing your marbles, aged six is
totally different from losing your
marbles, aged sixty,
trust me
I know.

things that make you cry and you think you're going to die if they happen once again,
things that make you wince with pain and things that make you laugh with joy,

That box full of blue is the window you look through.
though the colour depends on yourself.

Not sinking
not thinking of getting drunk
not sunk.

Taking it in because to start
one has to begin
somewhere.

and anyway
one cannot find
nowhere
on the map.

.and then she said,
'why don't you come to bed and let me guide you through the night'
I said,
'Alright'

The corruption of time where the girls of New York sell for a dozen a dime and a dollar gets the collar around the pretty ones, on each quarter a stain and Lincoln avenue pain and the time's never right for the move.

And the needle gets stuck on the 78s, **** can anything else go wrong, the corruption of time erupts on your face and the picture you have somewhere back at your place starts to melt.

Ever felt it wasn't your day
when the birds don't sing
and yet money flies away?

For a sawbuck, I'd ******* right now
I'd get out of your hair
disappear in Times Square to
reappear down in Harlem
with a hard-on for taco's
for a sawbuck, I'd do that
for a dollar or a dime you
go through that, but
the diner stays open all night.

Nothing dropped off of me in the night
my bits and bobs are hanging alright,
eyesight's a bit dodgy though.

I thought about thinking away Wednesday
and staying here quietly until Thursday
but then I thought no,
so
it's onwards into the day
and
coffee's on the way,

..and you flicker
switching frequency,
see me
I shone briefly

I kissed Sharon Stone
or was it
the Blarney Stone?

..and when the
shadow drops
what's there to
stop me?

The bread line
undernourished and
underfed line
time
it changed.

It's never too late
to change the
state of
play.

She inspects,
I suspect
that she expected
more than this.

...she love me not?

this flower's not
got
enough petals

I move beyond
imagination
to
the kiss
on
your
lips.

He who laughs last
has only
just got the joke.

Out of the frying pan and
into the cuckoos nest

I'm already there
you might be
lucky
and join me.

It's not a new moon
it's been there forever,
almost.

Out of shape
I bend slowly
into an old
man.

Picture postcard,
faded face
in the
backyard,
is that
me?

We shatter no illusions
when  breaking through
the looking glass.

Lettuce
spray.

It's an old gardening joke the vicar tells.

It'll get better before
Armageddon
said no one
forever
Amen.

I only ever thought
but
never knew anything
at
all.

This slow decline
cannot be mine
I
must be dreaming.

feeling so so
is sometimes
as good as
it gets.

Somewhere a harpist
plucks gently at my
strings and
weeps.

We moved heaven,
fell to every tremor.
I still
remember.

A blue fin
in
the blue sea
where
it belongs.

Never meant it
to be like
this
or did
I?

Life
is
clip art and
badly drawn
in most cases

I surrendered
unconditionally
she accepted on condition
we
made love.

No one drives me
to madness
I walk there
alone.

Heat seeking missiles
are pointless,
aimed
at a cold
heart.

****** she Wrote?

I only ever saw
Jessica Fletcher
type.