Santa Claus is a spirit
He comes to those who believe
The only thing about being a spirit
Is you have to use people
To do things in this world
That's why he gets people
To bring the gifts that you want
But you have to believe

Fresh back
on the street
from prison,
a pumped up
hilarious Hercules,
forced to sleep
under a bridge
along with the
broken and dead
windblown umbrellas.

Now, yet another
up-rooted member
of the homeless,
flashing a *******
at these so-called
modern times.
Not even a bottle of wine
to keep him company.

The whining of
the automobile engines
echoing off the
concrete and steel,
ripping and tearing
at his overblown ego,
shredding it into strips.

He knows full well
before long he'll return
back to the cell block
by his own choice.
Not knowing anything
but a life of crime
since his youth.

Better to be a live dog
than a dead lion.

Better to be a rollin' log
than a lumberjack cryin'.

Better to be a drunkin' fool
than a ******'s spoon.

Better to be a happy camper
than a hurtin' unit.

Better to be a fresh pamper
than full of ****.

For a moment
I wished I was
sailing over the ocean,

far away from land,
far away from earth.

But I thought again
and I remembered that
I don't like water,

hardly even to drink,
maybe to mix with scotch,
but then, only in its frozen state.

The cat is on the ***
trying to weasel a treat
meow meow is all she say.

Wish I could be like her
well taken care of
all my needs met
each and every hour
all-the-live-long-day.

Sitting in amusement
falling in love
with a muse that
visits on occasion.

Some glances
at various watercolours
hung on walls.

Strokes and dabs
smears and smudges
peeking out from
under matting.

Dry oceans
rain clouds
no longer wet.

Crafted by a
friendly schizophrenic  
while half in the bag
I'll bet.

A smile beneath my nose
a tiny tear slips from my eye
I don't need a death sentence
to know that I'm alive.

Reaching for a treat
she gives a precious
growl and comes
quick and sleek.

My fingertips
feel her gentle nibble
so goes a night at home.

I walked passed the gardens
The place I kissed you first
Now you've walked away
Leaving my feelings to be nursed
You've already heard please baby please
I'm sorry for the things I've done
Seems like it was everything over the seas
Like it was everything under the sun
I'm drinking high-test and I must confess
I know we can't go back to when it was all brand new
But baby can't you see I'm such a mess
So tell me sweetheart how do I get over you
Honey my heart is in my hands
It slipped right down off my sleeve
Baby I thought a lot of things
But I never thought you'd ever leave
Now all there is to do is grieve grieve grieve

When it's bad it's really bad
Sometimes I wish I were
out at sea, the rocking of the ship to comfort me.

The days they crawl by with me waiting for nightfall,
as of now I sit in the quiet of the kitchen and listen.

Soft rain on the window pane, the sump pump in the basement
beating out a chugging rhythm, the clock on the wall, a metronome
tick tick tick tick, I'm zoned out no brightness just a feeling like a dull hangover.

The pills for sleep, they no longer work. I drink no coffee after my mornings' cup, fearing the caffeine will still linger in my system
when the time rolls around to try yet again to shut my lids and drift away.

When what little sleep I do get, it's interrupted by my mind
whispering: Am I sleeping, am I dreaming that I'm sleeping?
Then I become fully conscious again and I fight back tears that
slide down my temples to pool on my pillow.

Morning comes and I pray that I get through the day without ripping some customer a 'new one'. Another day I'll spend on edge,
edgy, distant in a way. My face wearing my angst, my back hunched. My eyes darting from left to right, up and down to avoid another's gaze.

I feel so ****** tired I fear what will come in the remnants of the day. How long can this go on!