i

would it not be crazy
if we found our own voice
instead of why
we cried because..

happy howls f death-
i am alive..!
grumpy is at the psychiatrist
in the antechamber..

ii

i feel life pointless,doc,
the days pass with relentless
monotony
(not a word i use

lightly)
i have forgot how to smile
the world is crumbling
my only friend is a dog..

iii

i write poetry
this is called a bump on a log-
that is me-useless person number
three-what i say why,
i cry no-i mean no...!

better then red-dead
yeah..do i know-no
but i pretend,
a conundrum-a rhetorical
nowt..

dread and anguish in
my head..
a blemish or less
tiny spot-worse, can
it be worse..yes..super in superfluous..

iv

what ever they pay it is
insuffice and he is out!
the window-past the
gambling dens

and pound shops
past the fast food outlets
past the charity shops
past the telephone

and computer emporium
stops to inspect his ***-
ok..on!
past the pickled gherkin..

lugubrious *** the doorman
smokes a woodbine-hello
hap?!-hi ***!
examines form...

where´s the man?
inspecting his thing-
people..four letters
hap-lost in time?


past some polystyrene
past a puddle
past a moment
past a chip shop

past the sky
past a now
past the cop-shop
past the moon too..