Under the table, no one
gets in the way with giant shoes
my world can exist there –
until dinner

the houses, roads and construction projects
with all the thoughts of the people
I can read and answer –
with new plans

In the summer there are tables in the garden
with clips on the long cloths
swaying in the light of the wind –
my tent after dinner

which was small and dark at first
full of adults' legs
but cheerful with their voices –
my other world

I stroke the dry grass
clear ways for the ants
and breathe the strange air –
of roses and sweat

I hope I never go back
Knowing I will have to anyway
It smelled like a welfare office
Like stale *** smoke
Like old cigarette butts
Like mildew stained clothes
It was a “scent free zone”
So said the sign on the wall
But I’m telling you
There was a lot of scent in there
For a place not meant to stink
Probably because it was
After all, a welfare office
Where you take your number
Off the roll at the door
While bureaucrats take their time
Wait till you can’t sit
To have them tell you
“The forms are all online.
You apply on the computer.
There’s nothing I can do.”
At one time, it was an insult
To tell someone their job
Could be replaced by a computer
But now it’s happening
It’s no longer a ridiculous statement
It’s not even funny anymore
That the livelihood of humans
Depends on machines
The days they call you to their desk
To tell you - you have a cheque
Those are the good days
When the sun holds still awhile
To let you feel its warmth
A short-lived sigh of relief
That’s as good as it gets
When the people who hold
Every dollar you own
Are loyally subject to machines
You’re on a fixed income
As the saying goes
But too small an income to ‘fix’ jack all
You can swallow your pride
But the guilt keeps coming back
I must have looked terrified
In the security camera footage
Life is a garden
But it smells
like a welfare office

What are you?
attractively modified faces
On the souless corpse
Thriving for redempion
Whilst hatred runs through blood
There’s no place for you
In the deepest ocean
Nature knows what you do
How you destroy your own home
While singing the happy songs of conventions
When in reality plastic nations
are signing their own westphalian papers.
You play the games with the air you breathe
by selling carbon.
You cry for signed documents,
which do not change a thing.
You want to close your eyes
and destroy what took so many years to build.
And for what?
Tell me.
Tell your family.
Tell your planet.

Rip, rip, rip!
Red glazed paper
Cling, cling, cling!
The falling sugar
Whirr, whirr, whirr!
Grinding of the beans
Stir, stir, stir!
Till the surface gleams
Drip, drip, drip!
Dripping black ocean
Sip, sip, sip!
The bitter decoction

Sweetheart
Ain't it sweet enough
To believe there's someone we're made for
But it's never enough sugar
in that sachet
Why does love last as long as it's paid for?

A distant 'something' of fleeting promise,
Ephemeral as the fading dream
And yet, as certain in its
Tentative inevitability, does my
Life forge its way evermore.
To know I am heading to a place,
But not the truth of my destination,
To be a part of the living
Is also to be made
Into an unwitting traveler, forever grasping
Around in the hazy, dark light of time,
Passing by, adrift,
Ultimately juxtaposed into 'choices'
I am 'forced' to make
To live
To learn
To change
To just...be.
Into the crushing unknown do we
All find ourselves trudging alongside.
And for all that mystery,
All that wonder,
Every doubt,
Or question upon question,
I've found my compass; nothing will deter me now.

En una isla,
Un hombre dio a luz tres hermosas aves de su cabeza.
Triste y muriendo él les dijo esto:

Eres hijos de una madre inmigrante, hijas de agonía.
Deja que las montañas y los árboles escuchan su canción.

¡Vete!
¡Deja que los ríos te lavan y las arenas te enmascaran!
Colorea tus plumas vibrantes con el sufrimiento y la guerra de su gente
Y dejar que los mares se refunfuñan con sus canciones.

Usted está sin pies y orientación—¡Utilice sus plumas ahora!
¡Vete—
Deje que la luna baile por su cuenta!

¡Cantar la canción! ¡Cantar canciones y cantar una canción!
Despertar a los muertos de sus tumbas
Y obligar los vivos bailar de bajo la corona de las estrellas y sol.

¡Canta pájaros ya que ustedes están sin pies!

Sometimes I cannot quiet my mind,
Depreciating thoughts and moments of self loathing compress my skull,
A sustained attack that builds and builds,
Shockwaves of anxiety course through me,
I am lost in my attempts to return to normality despite my best efforts to piece together the fractured existence,
The barrage continues as my single track mind allows my but one confused perception,
Who am I? What have I become? What does my future hold?
These questions are unanswerable yet I proceed to waste my time over what in the end of the day is meaningless,
I am not stupid and I am aware I can only decide my outcome by making positive change,
Yet despite this I seemingly cannot refuse the chance to torture myself.
This existence is cruel at the best of times,
Even in the best moments,
Doubt, agony, fear sustain themselves with their own intellect,
The all knowing insight that things will never be good forever, if you're mind will not allow it.