Sandwich
no sand
a
tea but not witch

I feel slightly
Rodney
must have that
biopsy

Albert tells me
it's okay.

the wind from the East
could ******* away
not today though because
I'm weighed down by life.

glad of some gravity
who wouldn't be?
shouldering responsibility,
the new me

albeit without the biopsy.

Meanwhile under an
empty sky
emptier people are
passing me by.

I remain
unmoved in
the moving images.

There are rocks
With your finger prints on them

There are places
With the color of your eyes
Burning them down

There are memories
I wanted to last forever

There is pain
In the end of a needle
Just as there is love
In all people

There is a body
With your name
Your finger prints
Your colors
But no you.

(20 minute poetry)

Fill it in Friday
dye it blue,
what does anything
have to do or anyone
have to say,
but
Friday.

send me a test card
hung on a lanyard
or up on the yardarm
where I'm swinging
my bones

Weismuller's
full of something
now
that guy knows how
to swing
but
you're probably too young
to remember him,

Guess again
I'm back on the
underground train
and
it's snowing down here
either that or my eyes
have gone queer

it could be the light
or a trick of the night
looks like snow
though.

Nearly done for the year
eight more hours here
and a beer for a chaser.

Going
but not quite,
Injecting
testosterone
deepening my voice
a tone
heading on home
for Christmas.

Could have been a rockstar up there on choctaw ridge,
tallahatchie bridge, but just a song that flew so long back then.

pen a line and you're flying
or dying for to pen one more,

I could be her with the hair in my face
or me with myself out of place
could pump iron or jump
either way I am flying.

Choctaw was just a bridge too far
and they made a film of that.

Never can be
but always will be,
still we can only try.

buy a sidecar
ride a tramcar
slide your fingers in the jam jar
marmalade tastes great.

A Legal high?
legal to die?
sanctioned.

They sell poppers to boppers
and coppers come calling,
I'm nearly not quite though
falling through light
oh
it's shiny.

It's time we went
the rent's due
and I'm new
at this game.

Food for thought, the school
is torn down, McDonald’s
took its

place, and the old man
living in the corner
house

masturbated on his  front
porch until the police
stopped him

is decades dead, I don’t
remember his name

but the poor as horse meat
children who attended
class with me

I see like clean
glass.

She dug ***** after
***** of soil until
the hole was

long, and deep enough
to cover Brownie’s tan
and white speckled
body;

I was twelve years
old, and Beverly
fourteen.

(20 minute poetry)

Colouring in the haggard look,
*** it's chill outside, I am
painting on the shivers
as slivers of ice drop
from my nose.

Snow is in the air
bare branches on the trees
Dear Santa
I'd like for Christmas
a touch of Summer please.

The scent of cologne
floats softly through the train
an underground smell in
an underground hell
but
at least I got a seat,
cold ears
cold feet
in here it's even colder heat.

A young girl next to me
rosy cheeks
peeks in the compact
makes a snack with blusher
I watch her
it doesn't faze her
eye liner
why?

colouring in the haggard look
my days become a colouring book
every moment is a crayon

Young girl gets off
I stay on,
a smudge of lipstick back of the seat
cold feet?

Always full
ready to pull me
this way
that,
I colour me blue to match
my eyes and toes
the colour goes flat.

Glad I brought my gloves.

Jingle click
keys, hinge
squeak;

step on  five
gallon bucket,
hoist out

window, disappear
Durham Avenue,
walk.