sometimes the first
others the last
some obscure  others
crystal clear

a sad old cliche
the effing sky
something to love
get´s on my nerves..

how it´s all the same
and who cares anyway
hate hate hate
the world is a biscuit

and i am just a cup of
tea
a letter embroided
on this old heart..

i

as i recall lily
stare off the ball
beyond the spacey
in the walls-

it was the less well
off who were most generous
who enjoyed their selves and
gave freely..

ii

gave small things
made by themselves
maybe..

some utilitarian
or arty object
with imagination..

iii

like children understand
a gift is in the unknowing
they watch and smile

hardly containing..
some what small and
magical..

i

at the supermarket they treat me
like a thief yet it is they who
steal from off of me..

(and for so little too)
they have cameras and two way mirrors
and private detectives and yet

they are the thieves..
not just the prices but in
other ways too prosaic to mention..

lily wonders and wonders when
the revolution comes and blood runs
in the gutter..will they remember..

ii

and if i complain they say
something but in their
eyes is hate..

it is 14 cents-yes-but i notice
you never give me too much-now,
i am an anarchist communist  trouble maker

they make millions
why be so petty
don´t understand..

i

can you see now
why we hated you
in retrospect..

the greed and corruption..
ah,the 1980´s..
i was young

ii

on the south side of crete
young and innocent
people from all around

the world-
cheap wine and time
it was fun..

hope is snow
on a merciless planet
too..

when guilt is passed
on
each an individual
one..

hope is snow
each a flake of genius
belief so..

the wee bird in my
window
we want to share o..