Kisses between conversations,
Red roses and dark chocolate,
Beautiful gowns and flashing lights,
Fierce, wild, reckless love,
This was their life.

Residing in the sleepless city,
Showered with money, fame, and splendour:
The golden boy and the magical girl.
They had it all, they did,
Youth and life to them was forever.

Yet on one silent morning
As the sun rose,
They staggered home, slightly drunk,
Coming from some grand party in Long Island.

They look outside to the sea of buildings.
She pointed out the newspaper vendor below,
He pointed out the lady sweeping the street,
They watched a little happy family stroll along the sidewalk.

Then together, they asked themselves silently:
*What now?

I pen these words for my dearest friend Loghain Carvò
whos brilliance and humility deters him from penning brilliance in words

You cannot, no you cannot compete
with the brilliance that is I
for when you're long forgotten
my words will be emblazoned 'cross the sky
Inferior beings all who bandy words with me
for I do pen the perfect verse
to set the whole world free
Artistic talent!!! Yes I was blessed to enter this earth as the best
the world has ever seen
I take up the pen, take yet the brush
create that
of which you peasants
to create can only dream
Perfection born into my soul
Oh, perfection that is I
Lesser mortals gaze upon my great work
Theres none more great than I

It wasnt often but when I did
Ardbeg would speak in my stead
and Ardbeg then would rule my head
It would speak the words I never could,
the words that should never be said
She entraps me in her golden snare
her pungent aroma fills the air
and the level of the liquid there
slowly and surely drops
The words oft unsaid then leave my mouth
for Ardbeg takes control
and speaks for me
The amber nectar in that bottle there
took my soul then destroyed the love I had
She has now gone, taken part of me
but the Ardbeg still remains

Who's that I hear?—It's me—Who?—Your heart
Hanging on by the thinnest thread
I lose all my strength, substance, and fluid
When I see you withdrawn this way all alone
Like a whipped cur sulking in the corner
Is it due to your mad hedonism?—
What's it to you?—I have to suffer for it—
Leave me alone—Why?—I'll think about it—
When will you do that?—When I've grown up—
I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it—

What's your idea?—To be a good man—
You're thirty, for a mule that's a lifetime
You call that childhood?—No—Madness
Must have hold of you—By what, the halter?—
You don't know a thing—Yes I do—What?—Flies in milk
One's white, one's black, they're opposites—
That's all?—How can I say it better?
If that doesn't suit you I'll start over—
You're lost—Well I'll go down fighting—
I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it—

I get the heartache, you the injury and pain
If you were just some poor crazy idiot
I'd be able to make excuses for you
You don't even care, all's one to you, foul or fair
Either your head's harder than a rock
Or you actually prefer misery to honor
Now what do you say to that?—
Once I'm dead I'll rise above it—
God, what comfort—What wise eloquence—
I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it—

Why are you miserable?—Because of my miseries
When Saturn packed my satchel I think
He put in these troubles—That's mad
You're his lord and you talk like his slave
Look what Solomon wrote in his book
"A wise man" he says "has authority
Over the planets and their influence"—
I don't believe it, as they made me I'll be—
What are you saying?—Yes that's what I think—
I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it—

Want to live?—God give me the strength—
It's necessary...—What is?—To feel remorse
Lots of reading—What kind?—Read for knowledge
Leave fools alone—I'll take your advice—
Or will you forget?—I've got it fixed in mind—
Now act before things go from bad to worse
I've nothing more to tell you—I'll survive without it.

He stared off into the distance a stranger to all including himself.
Often when men stand apon that ledge there is little to be said befor the leap.
We all joked poured drinks and passed beer's paying little are no true attention
like the word we mocked we were ******* far from friends.

I saw the thought and spoke nothing I cant stop a trainwrweck  yet i can always get a good view.
He knew like a sappy western sundown would bring death  in a lost stance.
Even with a slight buzz I always saw the view of destruction in a writer reason with poetic sense.

I gotta go there was no soundtrack to warn no ******* follows traggedy
only seconds were left a hourglass count began silent to drunks and in honest
verse none would care.

He handed me his last beer and without question I knew goodbye was not a question.
The chapter had been written.
dark clouds didnt set the canvas to what would happen are laughter matched the light of a early summers embrace.

The sirens i'll always remember the the sirens a invite to a choas coated scene.
The others only looked in that puzzled deer in the headlights moment.
Doc  as we knew him had left the party  drove a mile down the road  
and turned a relaxing friday evening to a day spoke about in often twisted truth.

What had caused it?
A woman as simple as that a fight over a married woman and between the
two neither was her husban.

At the scene it was a sureal event  a fight had broke out Donald  laid
face down in the yard a blood spattred bloated lawn ornament from hell.
And in the truck the man I knew as friend in only names sense lay slumpped over the wheel.

It's a strange thing to absord in one's mind movies are just ****** up lies.
And the source of this chaos went unscathed.
And like any small town it would be talk of every conversation.

And like a snowball from a fragment it turned into a story that held no truth.
And with time it was forgotten replaced by gossip's ever turning wheel.
All had forgotten but I never have for it replays like some ****** up theater act within my thoughts.

Yeah i hate that ******* id love to scatter his brains across the the floor.
the ******* of anger seldom faces the reallity's of truth.
Whats behind the dark glasses is  more than foder for a barooms laughter.

More truths are in jokes than a simple conversation.
Ive viewed the trainwreck often in my life.
But this is just one view into many of my life's backpages.

I often hide behind laughter.
And shield my reallitys to mask what none should understand.
You were more than a memory sorry I never did more.

Most forgot but I never have.

       Dedicated to Russel Bishop.

Between biology
and double maths
Christina met Benedict
in the recess

of the tuck shop
and the passage
that led off
towards the hall.

As the other members
of her class walked on,
she in whispered voice said,
I won’t see you

on the sports field lunch time
because of the ****** rain.
He moved in closer,
sensing her body press

against his
in the small space.
It might clear up, he said.
Her hands wrapped about him,

she pulled him close.
But the grass will still be wet
and they don’t let us out
if it’s wet, she whispered.

He knew that, but wanted
to feel her breath against
his skin as she spoke.
The moment seemed to be

lacking of the motion of time.
Silence filled the air about them;
the darkness of the recess
seemed lighter as their eyes

grew accustomed
to the dimness.
Miss you most
when I don’t see you, she said.

Her hands squeezed him near her.
He sensed her soft *******
against his chest.
I look at your photo

and when no one is looking
I kiss it, she breathed out
as she spoke.
I keep your photo tucked

in the small wallet
my mother bought me, he said.
he smelt her hair;
it had a scent of fresh flowers.

She pulled him in closer;
his hands felt the small
of her back, his fingers
sensed the pulse of her heart,

through the white cloth
of her blouse. The toes
of their shoes touched,
she leaned in and kissed

his cheek, moving in damp
moves toward his lips.
The small space seemed
to hold in a silence except

of their words and breathing;
their eyes grew accustomed
to the dimness of light, each
saw the others' eyes.

Foot steps drew near,
the pitter patter on linoleum
floor, they broke apart,
held hands, squeezed themselves

against the door
of the tuck-shop recess.
A teacher walked by;
unnoticed they breathed out,

hands squeezing.
The sound grew fainter.
Best go, he said, late for class.
She kissed him again,

her lips pressed hard
against his. She went out
of the recess and off
along the passage.

He stood a few seconds,
then followed; she had gone,
the dampness still clung
to his cheek and lips’ skin.

His pulse of heart raced
like the engine of a racing car,
he paced the passage like
some pilgrim without guide or star.

I told him I loved yellow roses
and dandelions.
we danced across the campus like lovers;
I talked, he didn't.
He didn't need to.
Interwoven fingers, high hopes, and
the pages of my sketchbook mixed with tears,
stained with charcoal. The same expression used by primitive men
in the caves of the world.
Lacking words, but speaking wonders. I asked him
to say what he meant, and I saw it in his eyes. He was
never able to recite lectures about love but he knew,
because he remembered the yellow roses; and the beauty
of the weeds.