At my brother's for Christmas dinner
Sitting there for a moment I felt suddenly like I was the turkey
I thought they were all looking at me kinda funny
It was like they were licking their lips
And saying "Doesn't he look delicious, a lovely big juicy looking bird
It was like I thought they were thinking
We're not likely to win the lotto (the lottery) at our age
We've never been very lucky that way
The best chance of us getting a windfall of money would be
If dear old Uncle Bardo was to suddenly kick the bucket
Then we'd get his house and all his money
We could give up our day jobs and go holidaying for the rest of our lives
We'd be sliding down Easy Street singing like a bunch of sailors
Wouldn't it be great ?
I thought I better watch out, better watch what I'm eating, what their
  giving me
Next time I better bring a food tester/taster along with me
You never know, life is strange.

I suppose it works both ways though, my brother's always a bit reluctant to come down to my house
He doesn't think I'm very hygienic, he says he's always afraid he'll get food poisoning.

I guess it's all just...just in the family.

"It's quite a pretty hell,
quite a pretty hell,"

said the wilting woman
to her plastic window self,

a half-tint fetch, etched
in the eye of the weevil

threading the black dough
of the crosstown bus route.

The nightclubbers behind her
exchange glances and hold hands

as she begins to hum to herself,
but the unvarnished melody

lodges in an angle of odd brain
& soon I'm humming it too

as I step into 18th Street's maw,
already bristling neon sweet

with milkmaid dress hems
threshing ruptured doorsteps -

turning up my street I catch
a last sight of the shushed bus husk

crawling away northwards
with only a scratching hum inside

for its heartbeat, and a face lost
in the catacomb of its reflection.

Human beings trust
The sum of prejudices,
Blunt as rusty blades of limitation
Repeating the same mistakes,
Longing for infallibility,
Losing the last crumbs of trust.

They fell before
Yet wanted the absolute
Of the right version of events.
Sliding under a pile of tangled,
Broken wires,
Which were supposed
To build their impeccability
In judging other beings.

Water changes its state,
How easy to trudge
Further into the blurring
Instead of understanding,
They hurl accusations.

Dust of doubt,
On the empty road,
A rocky path
Perforated by frustration,
And rigid filters.

Drinking the last sip
Of wild screams,
They say goodbye
To gentle humanity,
Selling the heart
to detectors, fallible tools
Of elusive dreams.
Quo vadis domine?
In exitium.

God is the seed
Man is the soil

Nothing will grow
unless a man toil

God's watering words
quench a man's thirst

The son's called our Savior
from cradle to hearst

What would we do without our precious friends
the ones who stick with us, until the very end.  
How harsh this world would  seem if we lived alone,  
isn't it better when we have a friend of our very own?

Even colors we see are a cut above the rest when we
laugh a little, cry a little, with our very own best friend.
When God made friends he knew what he was doing,  
our hearts need companionship, for a blessed journey.

The power of one word, one hug, one simple friend,  
one who can gently stand by you, until the very end.
Friendship is a two sided street, so reach out often
tell them you treasure them, ...each and every day.

It's absurd to believe that there is someone for somebody,
the likelihood of finding that somebody in the crowd of everybody,
When everyone has woven in their mind, an entirely different reality
Is it a curse to be on your own for your entirety
You find travelers on their journey, and get a word in
Believe that the entire world, heaven above must be listening
A human in a billion, with rest so many other beings
What are the chances of meeting the one surrounded by many
I am just running in and out, about over my destiny
What is fixed, what is variable, what is relationship, if not temporary?
A promise of meeting in other life, why bind me in the cycle.
A lifetime seems so much, yet incomplete without somebody?
What is it in me, that I am not sufficient to be without anybody?

Lake view from
Beech canopy.

Legs, arms, enwrap
Broad trunk and
Ascend unlike any bird since
Dodo.

Sun through beaten
Coppered leaf-set.

Fair Day
With tall grass,
Bedded moss beneath

My seat of rooted
Contemplation