Pupils wide and black
frozen are his emotions
an unforgiving mechanical schedule
he is the plastic poison in the ocean

A breath of carbonmonoxide
as he sings his workers tune
those who are close by
are asphyxiated by the plume

Where once blood flowed
copper wiring now lines his veins
robotically performing tasks
charging twice daily from the mains

Steel ball bearings
now form his joins
sewing needles
line his guts...
Yet somehow on the outside
he maintains his human looks

Where thoughts were true
and muscle was lean
now soaked in oil
part man/machine...
Following the pide piper blindly,
letting out an internal scream...

All in the pursuit of conformity
and the Anglo American dream

I wonder sometimes,
When I let my mind out to play,
On a late night drive
And when I close my eyes.

What happens when we die?
If life’s a game no matter how hard we try?
Is it a shame I smile when I ought to cry?

Life speaks in whips and chains
And sometimes in sweet summer breeze.
Disease reeks,
And I believe death speaks to me.

If there was an answer to these lines of poetry,
Perhaps there would be peace.
Mystics and priests,
Offer no lasting reprieve.

The poet of relief,
Speaks of the heart’s needs.
Jester of despair,
Bringing comical release.

I wonder sometimes,
Of the mystics, poets, jesters and priests.
What tonight will be,
Will my wonderings find relief.

I’m not going to be famous
selling strawberries
writing poems
or preaching till we perish
especially, not through
this poem
your poem
or any we may cherish
considering the pressure I am under
and the number
of one more follower
to follow me
while I’m following your poetry
I may write and write I do
because like you I like them too
and though they may be the best
I know I can be my worst critic
whether I loathe or I like it
I wont lay my pen to rest
with my words and ways
till then, I’ll have my own novels read
and applaud my own plays
and be famous
in my own head

The needle rips and tears
vibrations through bone
pulsating pain on ribs
endured alone

Four hours of gritted teeth
the painful price of novelty
slow dips of black ink
paralysed...
A night terror atop of me

An obscure French artists character
now adorns my side
she'll fade and wither with me
she'll still be there when I die

Living in the moment
a mosquito in the breeze
skin like lizards when we're all sixty
the juice is worth the squeeze

In the valley of the Apricotted Sunrise
The black mountains with their jagged cliffs
Rise up each day to block it - and fail totally.
No mountain can hold back the dawn.

Seeping across the Eastern sky
Like an oncoming ocean tide
What was black and cobalt blue
Finally gives up the fight
And turns the color of a peach.
A delicious Arizona morning.
        ljm