We fall into
each others eyes
and see the
stars.

Waiting for Tweets
to arrive,
but the
postman
only whistles.

What do we
want
and do we
want
it now?

On the plus side
we can ride the
stars
tonight.

Haiku
like
Kung Fu
has
a strict code
of
conduct

Cauterise  the wounds
to heal and
feel the pain
again

Beware the void,
but
what if
we are the void?

Even as I break
the pieces of
my life
reassemble.

The internet
is probably guilty
of murdering
the singing wires.

Can't think
until
I've had that first
drink of
coffee.

I loved it and
you
never liked it.

The difference.

From the promontory
she
waves and
blows me
a kiss.

I watch the eruption

sure that

she's a volatile

volcano.

I really, really
want to know
how the dream
ended.

Remembrance,
a chance to
dance through
those steps
we took

Together we made
the magic
that made the
loneliness disappear.

Searching for a spirit guide
the one I had
died.

We bring you
shrapnel
made by
the
Krapshell & Co.

The
cotton looms
over me.

A millstone around
my neck.

Tyler's a while
in coming back
just like
King Arthur.

cutting a track
the jungle grows back,
life goes on.

Only a few clouds
are tattooed with
the
number nine.

A shower of hail,
words fail me
I
dry up.

Three degrees
in London Town?

I can't hear them singing

Retire early
and
sleep late
that's the way to
compensate.

a series of
random events
trying to find
some order

Labour day
Labor day,

the day that
no one works?

When those silent thoughts
can't keep the peace.

start shooting.

Do you ever wonder
if Robert De Niro's
still
waiting?

They painted it
battleship grey
and
sent it to
war.

How can a briefing
take so long in
the telling?

In the casino
with big dreams
watching the chips
grow.

Like you've got a head start
on a broken heart.

Some days the
Sun
seems so far
away
from home.

You can't catch
a head cold
with
a butterfly net

She dropped me a line
the hook
was
baited.

Caught.

When
she looks like that
she looks just
like that.

If and when
Kingdom comes
I'll probably be
at work

Carrots and sticks
I do tricks
for
carrots and sticks

The end
lives in all
of us.
The beginning,
few.

A coward
appears to
disappear
in a box
of bananas.

Caught
between the rebel
and
the blue of her
eyes.

No smoking
no drinking
no laughter
no joy
no boy for a girl
no girl for a boy
no husband
no wife
no children
No life.

There's a bonus prize
when you close your eyes
and let the world spin,
I win
and usually three lemons.

it's all relative, he said,
but he's dead,

proving his theory.

They called them skirmishes
shots fired
across the mud between
the vermin ridden trenches where
men could almost walk on water and
I thought that only
Jesus
could do that.

There appears to be little evidence
of all or any of the Saints in attendance
and this surely is the day for them.

The Devil I know
lays low
just in case they
turn up.

As the iron bars that wrap the night
creep in they hold me tight
a prisoner
and for what delight pray tell
should I spend these tiring hours in hell?
The windows laugh at me as they see me looking through and out into the gloom
and all I smell is doom
my bedroom is small and the evening is as tall as any giant
with foreboding
I stay quiet and wait.
Late.
It is late and there is no rebate to come from the warmth and joy that was the Sun
and it is cold
this terror I feel is not the least
for this night's no friend to man or beast
it is the cheat that plays the cards
the feral cat that like a baby howls in the back yards and alleyways,
and fat
the night is fat with jowls that sag
and drags its feet
across this man's back who failed to meet the sandman with his bag of sleep.
I weep
slowly
how slow the second hand takes to sweep around the dial
and slower still
the night creeps up and down my spine.
Even so
the night will go
I bear this thought in mind.

Listen to the background sound
the one that turns your life around
chill out the buzz, unlight the burn
listen in and maybe you'll learn

even a dope like John can hope
and hope has a sound all
of its own.

Watching too
on the peripheral
heading to the middle ground
working my way through
the background sound
turning my life around.

Converts from convicts and convictions reversed,
rehearsing conversations and
checking out of the jail.

The convoy unaware of the danger back there carried on,
strike one.

Rest breaks and more takes, is the cameraman ******?
reverse hold and conquer,
we will win to win will.

Strike two,
the best murderers do,
they usually get caught and
I thought it was Cluedo, but what
would I know?


'A handbag', she said,
I said,
'Oscar's long dead
and we broke down and cried.

Strike three and I'm out,
never thought that this failure
would send me back to
the jailer.

Prison ballet,
pirouette and
point the finger of blame,
rehearsing the conversation
not knowing my name.