When I finally go to therapy
and I've spilled out my brain
when they've cured of my heresy
and I'm no longer insane

will I still be a poet?

He was the ‘revealer of light’
Oracles he read, forecasted future,
Time moved, rustic life stood still
"Look back and see, there is change."
There’s no trial left
The deity acquired the ****** body.
Predictions are vague, he cried in pain
And he danced to his unshakable faith.
The God revealed!
The divine and man in a union of its own,
Patrons wept and asked for blessings.
Serpent’s crown over God’s head-
Shone in the dark light, his golden breast
And pointed teeth, sharp as arrows-
Pierced the patrons, they collapsed in devotion.
The dead hero arose with Godliness
He is God, his blood is divine.
There is change, there is change!
The drums arose and it stroke bold,
Patrons cried in religious zeal
The God plunged himself into the bonfire
He reincarnated.
Born again to die again! Born again to die again!
There is no change! There is no change!

Will the Baul ever quit his search
Singing all through the-
Deserted land, ektara a trail of his
Existence walked him with no promises.
Will He ever listen to their bald cries?
To His realm they say beyond the blues,
Life awaits out of the tableau of massacres.
The world of assumptions tampered
By a philosopher’s fairy tale decides
Birth, death, rebirth, curse and richness?
The blind light is biting his body, heart & soul
He still needs it, his poppy tears.
The system needs it to tear him open,
His body, heart and soul in vain.
Music of the Baul has no destination
Still the voyage is essential.
Ektara has to walk with him, all through
The barren lands, villages and futility.
There’s no end to his search!

Swapping astrology puzzle pieces
Stitching, patch working like cartoons writing typwriters
How many holes can I fit into my ear, can fix self brand new
I can sew
when is drunk wants the toilet to be a female therapist
done with psychologists
feel benzo anymore
taste narco anymore
Psychotropic **** arounds, ******* around with their sandy chalk trysyclo

My mother gathered me on her knee
and oh the stories i would hear
“The prince slay’d the beast his eyes white 
and strained, his inevitable end was near”

“The fair damsel had long golden hair
her face as pale as snow.
The prince took home the beautiful maid”
of course knighthood would be bestowed. 

They would wander the soft green hills together
wanting soon to be wed,
They softly reached the large wooden door
And drank from the pool of red. 

Oh how merry they’d seem as man and wife
with his dark hair and her light skin.
Mother closed the book, the light turned off
and my slumber enclosed within.


I wandered the soft green hills alone
recalling a story once told
Of princes and dragons with golden flare
my mind once easy to mould.

Dead sheep from a wolf’s mouth i pass
the preacher stood in my midst
i walked right by, not a word to spare
his white strained eyes i did resist.

As i passed the church where grass once grew
dark graves, and candle lit light
but not a glance i threw to its golden prince
not awed in it’s holy sight.

Seagull on rotting planks, bouy bells ding to fog and driftwood.
A culling fire exploits the docking shire.
Filled with chlorine shards, legs caught in the clap-traps.
Friar palms glisten,
Rage responds with frisson.
Clear view over water.
Feel your arms relax and slip onto your back while the culling fire attacks.
Bulbous deadening brain chimes
As the eyes slide down to your omission crimes.
Leave me alone in my despondent company.
Don't push the matter further let communication fail to nurture.
A warm breeze carries me
like a floating portrait towards unreal scented meats.
I'm here now, alone in the corner,
The greatest intimacy with the static patterns on the carpeted flooring. The king of this corner is the odor of plank seating and flowery detergent in this lonely corridor fluorescent light-bulb poles and old grain floorboards.
Now the returning shards of panic to uncelibate strangers drive me up, far, deep in my own ribcage to something wholly non-organic.
Time to clock-in, time to check out.