The reason for my articulation
is simple and utilitarian-
not to seek perfection,
but to seek ablution.

Perfection is reserved for those
with time to spend and money to burn.
My soul requires much more than these,
its ransom necessitates release:

Expiated expeditiously, in a flurry
of words that scathe my every thought.*




●○
°

peering out this excuse of a window
a crack, really, into a view less spectacular
barely catching self from tripping over
in this bed-sized atrocity of a room
that costs heaps more than an arm & a leg

oh, and don't venture out that door, today
that job you landed wasn't your first choice
and coffee tastes like something died in it
no, don't step into the street ever again
not for a second rate-life-- scraps for mains

take another look and refocus your lens;
hey, the smoke isn't that big, after all*



_ _ __✒
●○
•

one moment of life
exquisite pleasure
droned and drugged-up
then, it's on with
sustaining their future....

once her she-spider
majesty is widowed
many, many times over,
a cyclical dance in which
you're out of the picture*




_ _ __✒
●○
°

inkblot butterflies
frolic and chase each other
therapist's couch melts*




_ _ __✒
●○
°

Called a pain in the neck .
        always in the way
deaf in the ear
stubborn and strong willed--

It's time they realised
that's the way it's always been
and that's the way it'll always be!
          you call the shots
you were born breech