I must be mad -
up the whole night,
a favoured night,
writing and writing;

while the village
thinks
that the lunatic
is probably
at it again.

Not being capable
of imitating a song-thrush
(I know his speckled colours!)
and being in possession of a guitar
that won't or refuses to play itself
I will gladly admit to an arrest,
somewhere, in my developement.

There is an easy way
and a difficult path;
but most of the time
life is not gentle.

We nearly all end up
politely wiping our feet
on a tear-soaked mat
before the door of death.

Swirling
through the fresh snowflakes
of my mind;

feeling
warm and sociable
in the taverns
of my contented heart -

I embrace this winter's day
as a benevolent gift selected
from Your inexhaustable
chest of treasures.

2 and 2 is irrelevant,
3's and 4's are ridiculous -
feed your furry bears,
your Ollie Elephants and quack-quack ducks!

They are days
spent in pure learning,
though you may not know it;

no fractions, A-bomb formulas
or historical disorientations -
politics and religion
are mingled into one and nothing.

I am not
in control anymore;
unidentifiable powers play
with the furniture
of my brains.

I must go on
I tell myself;
there are things
that need to be done
but to what end?

Elements
*****
the putridness of pain's
existence
down the bows
of my sinking ship

as a scream
turns into a gurgle
before
it has really got underway.

The impressions of the day
mould into memories
fleeting across the pages
of time and space
while reclining in a metaphysical armchair -

before entering night's
palace of dreams and countless desires.