The art of solitude
is measured in eternity
Writing graffiti
and finger painting walls

Nameless was my friend from old times
His girlfriend young and lovely
She fell in love with my guy
And my guy killed Nameless

I was lost, realisation, trauma
So bad
My friend of old took me to the coast
It was her birthday and I fell asleep on the train

Half sleeping I, murdered Nameless came
He showed me white stones, big pebbles
Told me to build them by the sea
So that he could be free

We wandered by the sea
I think I spoiled her birthday
I could see no white stones
She went into a shop with the children
I sat on a bench in an old harbour wall

Then, a man with a child came walking by
He pushed the pram, child walked in front
Child was carrying a huge white pebble
Walked to me and threw it on the ground
At my feet

They passed by
I picked up the heavy pebble and looked around
Friend and children said where was it from
I said I don't know they came this way
We backtracked to where the heavy tides wash against the seawall

Carried them in our arms to the point where sea darkens sand
Built a hollow tower
A child wrote goodbye in the sand

Sitting until the sea came and washed it away
No-one touched it
Not even dogs
Not the seagulls who circled it
When it had gone I knew I had freed him

Sometimes I think of past lovers
It makes me feel lonely
Then I think of the implications

I wonder what they think
At this exact moment of my thought
Being an optimist
I hope they are all happy
Mostly they were the best, good guys
Fondness in my heart for them all

As for me there's no turning back
Love with it's highs and misery
Love with it's sorrows and guilt

Discarded it long ago
When my lover killed his other lover's lover
I walked away from love

We were up on Hay Bluff at summer's end
In a battered van with friends
A place where sky is and treetops
Where the Milky Way passes uninterrupted

Some American parents brought up their sons
For a night camping with us wild ones
They put their tents up for them
Fed them, left them in our trust
Like us they were young

In the night the mountain decided
To show us what a mountain is
Wind ripped through
Rain, thunder, lightening crashes
In the clouds there with the lightening
Way beyond terror, abandonment to the elements

They tried to hold onto the tents
As they flew away over the edge
And we took them in with sleeping bags
They slept on our floor
We fed them, gave them a smoke

Next day their parents came early
Took them away
Before they left they all took photographs

Cantlin Stone was no mans land
So everyone could camp there
But it was a sorry tale that made it so
In the tangled bilberries a man was found
He had no home no place he just lay down and died
Cantlin Stone had three borders, counties three
But all said it don't belong to me
And none would bury him
So as all counties said the land weren't theirs
It was a resting place for travellers

This July, the thought and creativity that I would have given to a Fourth of July poem were reserved to help save a kitty's life. A frequent front-porch visitor, Princess knew nothing of "amber waves of grain," "purple mountain's majesty," and "rocket's red glare." Rockets shot high above her five-word world, that had little to do with patriot's dreams and everything to do with the promise of tomorrow. Right now, I am the only man in the world who cares about this cat's existence. The truth is I am just as stricken, and we lie side by side equally dying.

Sitting around a fire
Kindred spirits met on that mountaintop
Where the white horses run
A guy came holding his shirt in hand
Overjoyed he'd found wild mushrooms
Field, not the trippy kind
Someone produced a pan
"Does anyone want to wash them?"
"Get them in the pan!"
Plenty for all
Delicious we shared them
Strangers together
In retrospect I understood that bond
The trust in that simple meal