The repetitive meowing of the scrawny cats,
the humming of the trains engine and the golden sun,
greet the starving musician that once lived.
Once lived a life of pleasure, sense and dreams,
In a world of music and soul.
Now he cleans the remains of squirrel bones,
His pants ripping at the seems.
Picking away at the meat with his long and
Grotesque fingers, as if every bite
Brought his closer and closer to the fame
He once indulged.

Dazzling white pants, are now black as night
his leather boots are nothing but tattered soles
which surround a foot plagued by age and disease.
While his body disintegrates as a banana peel in the summer,
The mind never rots, as it fights the daily battle of encroaching insanity.

His thin and blisted fingers reaches for his pipe,
which lays on a pile of hay and ***** soaked rags,
he strikes a match and ***** in his final breathe,
the blue tobacco cloud engulfs The Great Mr. West; King of Jazz
it shields him from the horrors beyond,
protecting him from the creatures of his imagination,
With a mighty exhale, he releases his smoke.
It bleeds out of the cavernous hole; a cloak of relief
with blinding flashing waves of heat, he finally rests in peace
drifting into eternal slumber among the yard cats and rats.

I like walking to see the man.

When the trees are stiff

and the clouds are glowing,

i take the high road up

to where creeks are flowing.

To where panthers sing, in

the darkest nights, to where shadows

are pythons and liken bites

when i can i see the man

i feel something inside me

bland, but beautiful,

second hand,

like a magic spell

in possum land, goannas

lizards, private lynx,

and kissen wizards

hybrid shrinks

when iv got a problem,

or my eye lid kinks

i follow the road

up to the skyward links.

Theres three roads,

once you arrive there well

theres one that will take

you up a plywood cell

and in this you scream

“take me to the dream

mr Pirolell!”

And if he hears you

in time youl smell

a clear blue gel, or feel a tear brew.

Well that is a bridge to enter your dreams.

—

The next road, the second, leads to

a humble abode with a pleasant

decadent essence. Inside this are

creatures that are big and

small, hairy and airy

ones, some are fairies holden

up librarians with scary guns

some are twisted toads with

bowed blisted noads

living life in a dark pit

solarium.

You must confront these

creatures to reach

the immortal bays

of the Pirolell beaches.

And here you will

be taught by the teacher

of teachers.

And that is the man i

walk to see.

—

The third road

you must tame an

insane hawk to walk

to the magic chalk board.

The bird is wanting to

**** those that wish

to write with the sword or quill, in spite

of it guarding its lord that is still.

If you can tame the hawk

than what ever you question

on the board with chalk will speak aloud

proud monstrous way,

and will discover all that is heavenly.

And youl realise that the man is fantasy.