I'm not a cat, you will see, you wussy!
And I'd not be trapped anyway,
With that ball of string, I already played.
It is a tired old game for stupid *******.

You woke me up
Tugging on my mind,
Swimming around.
I saw your eddies,
Before I fell asleep,
But you refused to bite.
So, now here we are,
Hook line and sinker,
You, 'idea fish' circling.
If I dangle the bait
Will I catch you,
You stinker?

Straight ahead and out of my bed,
Every morning between 5 am - 7 am
I go out onto my balcony and photograph

From the dawning until the sunrise's completion.
It feels me with joy and admiration
And gets me out into the morning's pollution.

At times the
Abscess of my mind
Must be drained.
For, yes, at times
I feel quite insane.

Pin to paper,
I must lay down
A lot of stinkers
Before I can write
A masterpiece,

And let the ooze out.

There are broken minds
In the world
Some that can be healed
We hope and feel.

But among these are still
The unfixable.
Humanity cries for better care.

I believe doctors should
Put the severely addicted
Into medical comas.

They do it for the traumatized.
What could be trauma
More than the soul-deep injury
Of addiction?

If I had a bicycle with a tiny wagon,
I'd give it to the homeless man.

The one that sleeps under the overpass
Then moves to a spot at a building near me.

He could use it to haul his bag and lawn chair
To that place where he spends the day sleeping

In the open air on a cement ledge of that building;
And does his ***** business in the corner where 2 meet.

It was so nice to see that honeyed-sky
Back from days of the cloudy tides
To watch the cherry, apricot, marmalade
Flowing now wide for many sunny days
I could if I were a mighty celestial hand
Dip and spread it on toast in every land.