screaming cat call
in the deep
of night
I lay quite still, there,
hoping to keep a good feeling
and watched with 
resignation
as it slipped away.
now I am awake
my friend has snuck through
my room
and hurried on
her smell lingers but
she had to fly
her brother worried
in the car.
crickets meditate 
at the top of their lungs
and far away
I wonder how the oldest child
fares this night-
all we share in the end
is sleep

Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
you look like a world, lying in surrender.
My rough peasant's body digs in you
and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.

I was lone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me,
and nigh swamped me with its crushing invasion.
To survive myself I forged you like a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling.

But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you.
Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.
Oh the goblets of the breast! Oh the eyes of absence!
Oh the roses of the *****! Oh your voice, slow and sad!

Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.
My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road!
Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows
and weariness follows, and the infinite ache.

This world is so broke
The earth wrapped in smoke,
So I rapped just to cope
Throw glow to a soul,  
Gave birth to adapt to the rap then I show,
Embrace my worth to grow l, then I sew,
Puffing this smoke blow away the fake hope,
Chasing my dreams til my dreams come home,
Spitting venom every sentence from a tongue of deception,
I question their method of self protection,
Adding dimension to this world I'm cutting tension,
Need a new invention for a cure to this infection,
I'm punching through-a-void, empty noise destroys,
I'm clutching to annoy so sing a-pray-a-boys,
people roun' me acting koi, like false raid on Troy,
actuality boy, shine the pain hide the joy,
so when I look right in the mirror I know I see me,
again, I took flight trial and error my guarantee,
I live daydreams writing schemes to be alone,
wearing baggy jeans no clean t, no phone,
a drone, figurines no family tree tired to roam,
singular road, my brains so fuzzy I'm bout to implode,
I'm the youngen in the runnin out gunnin,
I'm the one that's becoming too cunning,
I see your bluffing but your mind is numbing,
fallen in the system, it's your homecoming,

When  you  are  young.
The  village  seems  only
one  field  away.
You  can  skip  it  in  no  time.

Middle  aged  it  feels
two  fields  away.
And  is  getting  a  bit  
of  a  bore.

When  you  are  old
it  seems  like  three  fields
Almost  Impossible  to  walk.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2017.

She follows the words with grace.
The happiness of being alone
Holding the key to a new reality
Is all too familiar
To this little girl