No Optical Illusions
Nor Mentally delusional
Psychotherapy
Black chaise lounge condemnation
Build Billed
Is it filled?
Medicated?
Prozac & Back
with Freud Stages
No Latency
She's not delusional
Bipolar
She's not delusional
Cajole Her
She's not delusional
Confrontational
She's not delusional
Is it therapy?
THERAPIST?
THERAPIST
THE ******
THE  ******
THE   ******

To play the Cello
You may pull strings half the time
then push your way through

From which old, cattle ****
my dearest child, you've found
the tongue that cried a silent entreat
on perilous miles, those perilous miles
peeled out from under your feet
your soul unmended and worn... gone
never coming home to reconcile

What indifference has time gifted?
that empty score you left...
...for the old hearted man
deafening him, with its silence.
He sobs for you, my child, he sobs
with battered old scars, so gray
...as he dreams of you
the child from whom he ran away

"You know how I art ... intimately"
On broken city walls with crotches
these times I stencil is a parody
"its free, its me... with all my blotches"

Why **** my trapped rat in Hague?
You brought back, black this plague
from the West Sea sand to Bristol
made clearer with a ball of crystal

Provocative lives alive in deaf canned colour
yet reality's dead among sidewalk's clutter
if your heart really wants a Banksy's piece
My B +'s homogenized on a Petri dish for release

Who's guessing where my art's headed?
with blotches not a single piece shredded
the real art's kept displayed in the mind
that's why Banksy's blotches are one of a kind

Where else will you go
for love?

You have gone
to the edges of
your primordial self
and
within those consecrated caves
reverenced
like a Neanderthal

For the love of love, you laboured
with a disposition of
an unwanted child
moving the moon,
the sun,
stars

but
the expanse of time
permits not
love
to eternity

nor
can the frailty of
the human existence
plot
an infinite course
on celestial planes

Now
in your twilight
limp and flaccid
you linger
where love's limit
resides
and
you yearn
to go where
love's complete

an impossibility
shooting like an arrow
across the heart of heaven
and death
takes you
no closer
to this
Asymtote

Sizzling in the ***
butter and garlic tendered
Your dinner is served