Each page a story that reaches the sky
every word that has sentenced me,
every paragraph a lie and
twenty thousand stories high
the ink runs dry.
I spill into a refill that fills the story book
take a look around and hear the sound of termites,
little ******* munching on my written lunch,
a bunch of terrorists that eat the lists of things I want to do,
shoo you little ***** but my whole life falls to bits, chewed up in some mound to feed another round to termite babes, greedy little ***** it ***** when things like that occur when I'm somewhere up here not there, but each page a story overtakes these moments of life's great heartbreaks.

I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the house top.

But I will be under your wing in four days.

She’s not you
Then again I don’t think anyone could be you
It’s different and it’s new
*And right now it hurts less to be with her than to bide my time waiting on you

Out on a liferaft looking for low flying aircraft and the
sea shells that sound like the sea.
I see nothing but water and sailors that caught a rough wave
and paving the way for a saviour to appear is the
rear admiral asleep and the course that we keep is
quite random it seems, gleaned from the stars and
the dockside bars, distilled by the gums that supped many a *** and
smoked a canteen of navy cut cigarettes, where will it end?

The admiral wakes, takes a reading, 'land sakes', from the parrot that sits by his side and we glide on through the sea, what will be, what will be
but what is
is what worries me.

On the cockleshell shore where we floundered and wore out the heels of our boots, we set down some roots built huts from bamboo to save us from sunstroke and the Lloyds bell was rung for lost sailors and *** and the admiral asleep in the rear.

She
who has climbed the mountain
in me
knows
that the mountain erodes
and falls back to
the sea
and
she
understands.

... of course the side effects have some effect,
slang terms in a dialect,
being near with one defect,
perfect.
it kills me with its monotony
a gluttony of verbose,
such grandiose schemes
lost in daydreams and
of course the
side effects kick in like
oil I slip in and spread out
rainbow style.

The eyes that roved across her skin at altitude where the air was thin and still she would not let him in
and still he waited to begin,
a simmering
a gentle heat where bodies meet,
exchange complete and
melt away,
the night meets day
sometimes.