awakened by the
offsprings cry,
baby powdered
morning dew
showers the room,
coffee stained smiles
shine about
cheerio blanketed
kitchens,
so worrisome
for office tardiness,
the carseat won't lock
into place,
tire marks on
fresh paved driveways,
to daycare tears dry not
she's on time,
fatigued she plants
her seed to the office seat
to grow even less
awaiting to see the smile
of her child and say
her prayers before
falling asleep

                     -

awaked by the
offsprings cry,
gun powered
morning dew
showeres the village,
rotted teeth smile
amongst the
body-blanketed township,
so worrisome of finding
a slain mother
sister
brother
just like father,
the gun won't lock
into place,
they never will,
tattered couches
paved with the
***** of
slaughtered buildings,
mother's dead
tears dry not,
fatigued,
hands of
grungy drainpipes
plant beside,
holding stagnant
a somber sibling,
tremors ripple
crimson tides,
planted to
grow even less
awaiting to see
the smile of
his mother
his father
his sister
and say his prayers
with brother
before laying down

DING **** MY KIDNAPPER IS DEAD, THAT IS WHY I ALLOWED TED BUNDY

TO TAKE ME YEAH, I WANTED TO KIDNAP MY KIDNAPPER

HOPING THE SPIRIT WORLD CAN **** MY KIDNAPPER, OH YEAH

I KNOW IT’S ****** HARD, CAUSE, THE SCHITZOPHRENIA, WAS GIVING ME THE ****** YRGE

I FOUND IT HARD TO RID THE URGE, SO I MADE TED BUNDY’S GHOST TIE ME UP

BUT THIS MADE ME FIGHT MY FATHER, AND FORCE ME ON MEDICATION

WHICH MADE THE NICEST MAN, BUT MY KIDNAPPER KEPT COMING BACK

DING **** I WANTED MY KIDNAPPER DEAD, I KNOW I ANNOYED A LOT OF PEOPLE

TRYING TO GRAB THEM OH YEAH

I GRABBED A FEW SCHOOL MATES, AND THAT IS WHY I WAS TREATED LIKE A YEAH MATE YEAH KID

I WANT TO GET REOFORMED, BUT A VOICE SAID, NO YOUR NOR REFORMED

AND I WORKED AT THE RAINBOW, HELPING THE MENTALLY ILL

AND I FELT LIKE A HAPPY CHIRPY COOL KID GOING TO THE BEACH AND BUSHWALKING

AND WORKING IN THE RAINBOW KITCHEN, AND NOBODY WANTED TO TEASE ME

CAUSE I HELPED TO GIVE THEM A MEAL, I WAS A COOL KID, AND VERY VERY CHIRPY

AND THEN IN 2002, I FELT REALLY CRAZY, THE PARANORMAL SHOVING VOICES IN MY HEAD

WHICH WAS, I WAS THE KID, KILLED BY THE ******, THE AMERICAN ****** KILLED A KID

BUT I SAID I DREAMT IN THE REAL WORLD, SAYING THE KID HE KILLED WAS ME

I STOOD MY LITTLE KIDNAPPING KID, OUT ON THE LONESOME, THE ****** KILLED MY CRAZY KIDNAPPER

I AM NOT GAY, I RESPECT GAYS, BUT I AM NOT GAY

I AM NOT A PHEDAPHILE, HAVING *** WITH KIDS IS REPULSIVE

I AM NOT A CUDDLING KOOMARRI MAN, CAUSE THEY GET KILLED, I LIKE TO SAY THAT AT LEAST GAYS, HAVE A REASON

THE KOOMARRIS, ARE TOTALLY GEEKY, AS THEY CUDDLE UP TO YA

I AM NOT GAY, HE SAID, I JUST LIKE TO CUDDLE MEN, NOT THAT THERE IS ANYTHING WRONG WITH GAYS

I AM NOT GAY, I MADE MY CHOICE, TO BE A ******

LIKE A ******, WHO PARTIES ALL THE FUCKEN TIME, LIKE A ****** BABY YEAH

PARTY WITH ME, AND YOU AS WELL YO DUDE

BUT TED BUNDY, ISN’T HASSLING ME NO MORE, I AGREED TO **** MY HOOLIGAN WHO GRABS KIDS

AND IN JUP[ITER, I AM PREPARED TO SUFFER, FOR EVERY KID, AS CRONUS DOES DO

TED BUNDY NOW HAS ME ******* TO THE LAMP POST ON JUPITER

I PREFER THIS, RATHER THAN CUDDLING ******* KOOMARRI MEN

PRESUMING THAT I AM GAY, I AM STRAIGHT, MY PROBLEMS WERE WATCHING REALLY BAD KIDNAPPING ON TV

AND MY LAST TWO LIVES KIDNAPPED AND KILLED AT AGE 8 GREAME THORNE ANDS PATRICK DUNBAR

I HAVE KILLED MY KIDNAPPER AND LEFT MY LITTLE DADDY’S SHY BOY WITH DAD, ON CLOUD 9

SO I CAN ENJOY BATTLING THE YOU AND YOUR BROTHER AREN’T LIKE US VOICE

BY DRINKING A BOTTLE OF COKE, I AM A COMPUTER **** KID

I WANT TO LOSE PAT’S VOICE, BUT WE HAD FUN TOGETHER

I WANT TO LOSE HIS VOICE, BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THESE DELLUSIONS

OF HIM BEING A TEASING GAY MAN, CAUSE YOU HAVE TO BE CAREFUL TO TEASE NORMIES

THE WAY I USED TO TEASE THE MEN, WHETHER YOUR GAY OR NOT

PEOPLE PRESUME THAT YOUR GAY, AND PUNCH AND **** YOU

BULLYING LEADS TO KILLING, BRIAN ALLAN DOESN’T WANT TO BE KILLED

SO HE PREFERS TO GET RID OF HIS SHY BOY THE BRIAN ALLAN WAY

CAUSE I HATE, THE IDEA IN HINDSIGHT OF BEING A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE LIKE THAT

IT WAS ALRIGHT WHEN I WAS YOUNG, WELL CRAWLING THROUGH DRAINPIPES

AND RIDING OUR BIKES, AND PARTYING IN CLUBS WAS COOL

BUT THE KIDNAPPING OR THE GAY ACTIVITY, REALLY AIN’T FOR ME

I AM STILL DOING WHAT I USED TO DO, THE IMAGINATION BIT

ART AND DRAWING, I WANT TO KIL MY KIDNAPPER AND HAVE TED BUNDY TIE HIM UP ON JUPITER

AQND LEAVE MY DADDY’S LITTLE SHY BOY AS I SAID ON CLOUD 9 WITH DAD

WE HAVE TO STAND ON OUR OWN TWO FEET

OH YEAH MY, HEART IS A PUMPING, AND MY LEGS ARE FIT

I WANNA STAND ON MY OWN TWO FEET

I DON’T CARE WHAT MY VOICES SAY

I PREFER FOR MY VOICES TO SAY BE AN ARTIST, BE A WRITER, BE A YOUTUBE PARTNER, BE A BUDDHIST

I DON’T WANT TO HAVE ANY PART OF MY DADDY’S LITTLE SHY BOY IN ME, EVER AGAIN

MEDICATION, REINCARNATION, I AM COOL, HOW ABOUT A LITTLE CELEBRATION

STOP THE CALLING ME WOOSEY, IN MY HEAD, CAUSE, IT’S FUCKEN DOWNGRADING YOU BIG *******

I FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND GAYS, DOESN’T MEAN I HATE THEM, I HATE BEING TOLD I AM STILL GAY

******* ****, *******, I AM NOT GAY

DING **** MY KIDNAPPER IS DEAD AND MY LITTLE SHY BOY IS UP THERE WITH DEAR OLD DAD

I AM A MAN WHO ENJOYS PARTYING, YEAH MATE YEAH, I AM NO ****

I like slandering your makeshift forceps.
I hammer you down with watery *** and then spill

the remainder on the couch. Yarg! A diamond’s
worth at least a small intestine, and you

are worth whatever’s left over after night
has upended itself, poured sideways out of its

shellacked crawlspace, and turned the basement sour.
There are remnants of you in the park,

some red stain by the baseball field where,
if you’ll remember, you watched little leaguers

build teamwork, and faint splotches on tree bark
from your lactations which, if you’ll remember, happened

every morning. I whisper your godforsaken name
and am slapped in the head. The children cry

when I smile. I cry when the children smile. Good
heavens. I forbid you from not entering my corridor,

even as I set up a barricade. I like my water scalding,
my passion chilled, and I like you in easy-to-

swallow doses. I like you in my eggs.
Ditto the faucet, keyboard, the occasional lily,

but do not mess with my pearls. I mumble of apodictic
meadows while I sleep. What can I say?

I do not mumble of unclogging your bathtub,
which has a certain foul repute, and has grown

heavy and ugly with your hair, which is everywhere,
just as you are everywhere, and wherever, and so

******* hidden it’s not funny anymore, we stopped
looking some millennia ago, after scouring the drainpipes,

kicking down your doors, dissecting your mattress,
speculating about your burial site, etcetera, and even so

we have not been really looking all this time, have we,
just blaring your name through the speakers,

putting wrong numbers on our calling cards, leaving
uncooked meat out on the back porch as if you were

a raccoon, oh, or a lion, which you are not, or not
quite, though, as the books say, you have honey

in your stomach, and if you could but be
ripped open we would taste and see.

Drainpipes,
sticking tight to legs,
old news,
Rain wipes away
brown dirt from black shoes.
Your tragic bow and arrow,
made from my bone marrow,
Your magic aim,
where you hit your mark,
no matter how narrow.
Sailing down streams
made of necessary day dreams,
Failing to fail schemes
of winning,
by any means.
You have the only two
possessions worth having,
beauty and youth.
Moments in time,
frozen by a photo-both.
You know it can never
stay this way,
Not even looking the same
as you did yesterday.

-
Jamie F. Nugent

briano alliano at venus party trap




hi dudes and welcome to the party of the universe and when i was a teenage boy i drew pen drawings on my arm

and the picture was a triangle with a line through the centre which means, i am into raging, and those drawings are

right for today up in  venus, here is a song about my pen drawings on my arm


you see i was getting teased by other young dudes oh yeah

and it was driving me nuts, i needed to do something oh yeah

my mum and dad were worried because i took my frustrations out on them

saying dad has aids and i must keep away from him, but i was messed up yeah

so i took a pen from my pencil case and drew a triangle

and stuck a line through it, dad started to get worried

i didn’t care, i needed to find a way that i am not a freak

just because i am a bit different to others, who was very weak

the triangle was a sign of partying , the line meant add some fun

you see it’s easy to just sit and watch, like i did once

but it’s better to really party, and the line meant party all night

in the nite clubs and on new years eve, yeah it was so great

dad was really worried, like all parents i guess

i sang 3 6 9 dad drank wine and i drank bourbon and coke

you see i vomited on that, but i don’t worry because i am raging in the club

you see i had these cool mates who i got drunk with yeah

you see i went out and raged with them dad said, no, go to bed

i said no to my dad, i am showing you what my drawing on arm meant

it means i want to be cool man, cooler than the rest of my family

i squeezed my way through drainpipes and i partied at the private bin

i was showing off my raging skills, saying LET’S PARTY MAN

you see i was a cool kid mate, who really loved to rage

every day i turned around there were more girls partying with me

and i was getting drunk reminding mum of her father

but i didn’t understand this, i just raged anyway

because partying is my middle name my first name is cool

my surname is raging and watching rage the next day

reminded me of my next day

i still want to show young dudes though

that partying is great and raging is fun, oh yeah

just remember to not bring it to the family oh no


thanks dudes and now here is a christmas party son called getting tipsy

you see i put the christmas tree up and drink some beer and get drunk oh yeah

and sit down and watch your family happily playing how cool’s that

you see i like christmas it is all so fun, but i have to watch that i don’t get all tipsy

getting tipsy dude getting tipsy dude, from wine and beer and bourbon and coke

and losing breath from my packet of smokes

yeah yeah yeah yeah, i was getting tipsy

while the barman watched me all night, as he sat behind the bar

the angel of the lord came down and said i have a car

how about we drive you home, you look drunk to us

i said no, i feel alright, i rather get the bus

come on barry allan drink some methane for your next life betty campbell

you have now got a red hat on oh yeah

and we can party all over the solar system, yeah that sounds so fun

and bon scott came up to me and said your on the highway to hell, ya see

i said the only highway, i am on pal is the highway to party dude heaven

or nirvana, of which buddhists call it

dad is poking me and saying, i am not ya dad anymore

i said we can still party up here, though

because you need to understand what i like about partying

all through the ****** night

i tipped methane all over my old dad and macauley culkin did as well

you see macauley culkin is clarry allan and he dropped methane all over my old dad

to make his next life cool, cause dad hated christmas carols ya see

but he said, his next life will try oh yeah

i sang to dad who had methane all over him

we wish you a merry christmas

we wish you a merry christmas

we wish you a merry christmas

let me live on earth dad

i know i teased you

i know i teased you

i know i teased you

but i deserve to be left alone to deal with my mental illness

and now here is a party anthem as i leave here, it’s called i am in party heaven

you see i only like people who party

or go out to fun events

i am not the type to be a total,and utter dense

please buddha, i know i am cronus but let me party on

let me get past this business of my drawing on my arm

dad hasn’t got aids, i was young and dumb

and i didn’t mean to provide bad memories of the father of my mum

you see i like to party dude, and party all day long

so buddha, don’t give me my old shy brian allan body

send him to space junk, because i am cool man

buddha buddha buddhs please let me do my art

i know i put my dad through hell

but i misunderstood him yeah

i thought dad was ready to give me a job on TV

but in hindsight my past might stop me from succeeding oh yeah mate yeah

you see i used to say to my dad ya say ya say ya say

dad just said, one main word, yes, your majesty

because probably i sounded like the ****** old queen

ya say ya say ya say, yes your majesty

so please buddha, let me do my art, don’t try and send me off to my next life

i am not ready to go yet, i want the world to know that brian allan ain’t evil

i want the world to know i am a party dude who has made silly mistakes

PARTY BUDDHA PARTY BUDDHA PARTY BUDDHA

THE WAY TO ****** BE, oh dude

ok everyone, i have to go, but i will hang around to throw methane over all the old hags

ya know tease the old hags dude

CATCH YA LATER PARTY HEAVEN

punto / contrappunto (patty m /nat)
(on the why of messaging, on the Underground HP)

none can fly,                          all can fly
except in words,                   in deeds, indeed,
yet others turn                      those who believe turn
lead into gold,                       golden faerie dreams real,
penciled in the salvation     hints inked upon the skin
of the host, the blessing       are the blessings of the host,
of solving great puzzles.      deeds of salvation solutions.

Yet unbeknownst for many.  known to all
its jiggling all the quarks,      the clashing of the neutrons
spinning electrons that          within all of our protein protons
affect many,                             effected upon each,
invisible all is hidden.            where all was hidden, now visible

the message that isn't             let our acts speak ever louder
transmitted,                             realized,
holds no power, yet it             a time for action
remains a black screen            for each message, now an action    
in the catacombs                      in the clarity of daylight
waiting, waiting there,            no longer waiting,
millions of little pieces            each action a deed
when finally viewed                the summation total
                 
                                 grows gargantuan
                               funneling radiation
                                     from the sun.

Climbing roofs,                       to the streets leaping
sliding down drainpipes       knocking to open all doors
to the street,                             filling the stadiums & squares
I'll wait with you,                   no laggards, all in attendence
            
                                         they will come,
                                         poet after poet,
                                    spreading the word,
                              words to deeds, each of us
                           a messenger and a conductor,
                            orchestrating the symphony
                                        of revelation.
              Patty m.                                                       Nat

Through towns and through cities
he roams with his crew
At one time or another
they were likely near you

White face and red nose and
green hair and wide eyes
the clown they call Bob
and his three loyal guys.

His brutal lieutenant
Contortionist Clive
Just a baby in a basket
and barely alive

Taken in by a couple
two elderly folk
She smelled sweetly of marzipan
He of pipe smoke

They cleaned him and fed him
like he was their own
they schooled him and loved him
and gave him a home

And fed well by their kindness
Clive grew tall and grew strong
but on his seventeenth birthday
things went horribly wrong

You see Clive became spoilt
and expected a gift
of a trip to the circus
it was this caused the rift

for his mother believed
that the circus was cruel
and he would not be going
it was her only rule

Clives face grew all twisted
his eyes shone in the light
of the candles lit specially
to mark this dark night.

When the neighbours were asked
by police what they'd heard,
though many were too scared
to utter a word,

A picture emerged of the
untimely demise
of a Mr and Mrs with
old kindly eyes.

A Rumble
A Tumble
A Stumble
A Fall....

A Crashing
A Smashing
and Dashing
down halls....

A scream that turned into
a horrible cackle
a smell of smoke, orange glow from the window,
crackle.

In the cold light of day
there was no sign of clive
though firemen struggled
to believe him alive

For the windows and doors
had all been locked tight
on the night Clive went mad
burned his house, and took flight.

I've developed a theory
of just what went on
given the profession
into which he would spawn.

You see one window WAS open
the one in the loo
though too small for a man
big as Clive to fit through.

But we know Clive is
somewhat of a twister
a slippery sleeked
and devious mister

and feeling the heat
of the flames on his rear
he achieved the impossible
and squeezed himself clear.

And somewhere down the line
Clive met a clown, name of BOB.
More of him later
For now, back to his mob.

The next of the gang,
this stays between me and you,
is a curious chap
who they call Mr. Glue,

At seven feet tall
and massively thin,
since birth Mr. Glue
could stick things to his skin.

As one might expect
this caused him some issues
when eating a biscuit
or passing some tissues

or using a toothbrush
or driving his van,
and all this made Glue
quite a miserable man.

So one day he started
inventing a suit
to cover his body
glue head to glue foot

with holes made for each
of his glue fingertips
for these were the parts
that helped him to grip

onto walls and to ceilings
and drainpipes and sills
for climbing on rooftops
and acrobat skills

so he wasn't so miserable
all of the time
he was happiest most
on a difficult climb.

He climbed mountains and towers
and buildings and people
he perched on the point
of the worlds tallest steeple

and spending hours and hours
perched high above town
he began to dislike
the thought of coming down.

So he stuck a large tent to the small of his back
and climbed a tall building and didn't look back
and knew in his head he would never be back
with the people who lived down below.

and one tent soon grew into three and then four
and one level grew into five and then more
and soon Mr. Glue was in need of more floor
for his tent house on top of a building.

And he looked to the building across from his home
and had an idea, that with wood and with foam
and with glue from his hands he could easily roam
quite safely, between the two towers.

As this castle emerged high up in the sky
the people below couldn't understand why
and their fear and confusion turned into a cry
that sent chills to the heart of tent kingdom

And Glue could but watch as they gathered below
and the flames of their torches burned bright through the snow
and as ladders emerged, though so very slow,
the people were coming to see him.

Mr Glue cried out, and begged them to stop
No use, they said, we're coming up to the top
and there in the crowd, Mr Glue saw his Pop
and the good Mr. Glue's heart was blackened.

What happened next
I saw for myself
from my car parked
down in the street.

And the crowd
in a panic
ran wildly around
as tents fell and crashed at their feet.

Mr glue was destroying
his heavenly home
piece by piece
tossed it into the depths

by the moon silhouetted
he raised his arms high
and in the snow,
Mr Glue wept.

And then the enormous seven foot frame
took several steps back, crouched down and took aim
and building by building, his heart full of pain
he disappeared into the darkness.

and wandering countryside, village and town
Mr Glue could find nothing to upend his frown
then one summers day, he bumped into a clown
and Mr. Glues life changed forever.

To be continued.....

Away from her is when you feel her the most.
You do not know how this is true, but when we are confused, the only thing left to do is find a way to understand.
So you looked for her; in drainpipes, in places that shined too brightly from the insides, in quiet dinners, in all the street corners that smelled like the flowers sitting on her front porch, and in the end, you feel so much smaller compared to how heavy the world has always been, even from it's beginning.
How could anyone grow while living on a place that does not realize how vital change is?
From the moment you came to being, from the moment you experienced so much light and hands and whispers and beauty for the first time that all you could do was cry as hard as possible, the wind has been pushing against your feet, trying to sing in all the places that cannot hear.
We see the still surface of a lake, or the deep **** of the ocean, and we know it is ok to jump in, and we know we can not be in it forever, and I believe you to be my favorite body of water.
We know that all the things that had a beginning, no matter their importance, no matter their size, nor their texture, all have an ending.
If there was no ending, life would have nothing else to offer.
I am writing this to you with my Mother's favorite pen, I hope you can feel the gentleness in everything you read from now on.
The world is a constant apology, when we tried to learn about our nature, we confused giving and trusting, and we never realized it. A year later I'm learning about true forgiveness, the type that doesn't ask for anything, the type you had when you were still a child.
You were singing to me and I was peeling apples and I realized that the only thing we really end up missing the most is ourselves.

Flesh on flesh. Eyes watch eyes
Following fingers round curvatures. Caressing skin.
Skin on skin. Flesh in flesh.
A gin-sung-dream –
Silent utterances from the dark-side of a candlestick.

An unsung overture to Nature’s greatest gift
And Nature’s perfect curse.

Lips pursed open, speechless. Breathless.
Wide-white eyes scream STOP. blink. GO ON.
Glances flash between the flickers of candlelight ,
Meeting unknown looks in the black. Bodies
Embrace, writing words that have their own
Music. Heard only by its two composers.

Everywhere the other wishes to be –
Vivacity. Revelling in promiscuity.
Obscurity. Strangers share a warmth
As old as the ages.
A wafer-thin knife-edge of meaning.
Gin-song dreaming. An opaque tonic
For loneliness.
Hands in hands, heart fleeting.
The perfect curse of Man
In the stroking of skin.

Later, a vague sound of water, a towel
A drawer closing – a door latch clicks.

The world floods back.
Through the curtains,
Through the drainpipes
Your fleeting heart sheepishly returns,
Aching like a hangover.
Too much gin.
The momentary tonic wears off.

Heart in hand,
Hand to head.
Candlelit premonitions return.
Heated flesh. Arching backs.
Fingers through hair…

Salty fingers through oily hair and
Blood-red-wine lipstick smudges and
A singeing waxy smell makes you reel
To the window for air.
And there you are again,
In the middle of a city that knows you
More than your Alcoholic Lover,
A Melancholic Mother to all your needs,
Except the one you tried to soothe
A few hours back.
The one you pine for.
The one you lack.

Oh, this Humdrum City
Rushing you, with your heart in your hand, off your feet.
And your heart in the street
And the gin in your glass
Whenever you meet
Whoever it is that might
Make you complete…

A vague sound of water, a towel,
A candle extinguished, a door hinge creeks.

Wafer-thin. Flesh on flesh.

A belt buckle rings, a zip
A drawer closing, a door latch clicks.

The door latch clicks.
The door latch clicks.

there was a little cat and his name was bob
he just love to burgle always on the rob
he would rob the rich and give to those ineed
a very friendly cat a thoughtful cat indeed

climbing up the drainpipes he was very fit
with his torch and sack his little burgle kit
getting in through windows that were left ajar
a proper little thief a litttle burgle star

roaming round the house to see what he could find
that would help the poor he was very kind
looking through the draws and the wardrobes to
searched in every room like the burglers do

then he would get his ***** put it in his sack
wiping off his finger prints not leave his track
then off to help the poor the little cat would go
donating all his ***** gave there hearts a glow

now his deed was done just like robin hood
he had helped the poor just like he said he would.
then he fell asleep tired now was he
happy and content as happy as can be

incy wincy spider got stuck in a spout
his *** was far too big  there was no way out
so they called the plumber to set poor incy free
the plumber got him out a clever chap was he
incy lost some weight his fat *** now has gone
now up and down the drainpipes he can carry on

there is a single scratch
on the waxy hardwood floor
from where she broke
one night in august.

a single, jagged line
where her feet tripped on the broken frames
that held fleeting moments
where her chin hit the ground
because her knees already had
where her hands couldn’t let go of her own lungs
to catch herself in time

its submerged now
in a puddle of crimson tears
and surrounded by
shreds of her white cotton sweater
with the ink stain on the cusp

you see
she was trying to fly
but her shoe laces had grown to vines
that crawled up the sides of houses
and into the drainpipes beneath the city

she wanted to dance on cloudy pillow tops
sing the lullabies her mother whispered into her dreams
pull sunbeams through her fingers and tie them into her braids

she hadn’t learned
skies rest on the ground
clouds need valleys to cry on
the earth must turn for the sun to rise
to fly you must have the floor to leave.

A window into the soul
Water rushing along a gutter
The awaking to raindrops
Hard upon ancient metal flashing.
Gurgles echo in the drainpipes
Droplets join with a chaotic torrent
That interweaves fingers
With the cobbles in the street.

A window into the soul?
But memories melt like softened snow
Down off a high fence of wrought iron
Caked with ice
Though the blacker the metal
The more warmed by the electric afternoon sun.
Crystals drip into syrupy tendrils
And dissolve the moments past.

A window into the soul
The melting left the cold cinders
Once hot and glowing
Now long extinguished.
Even the ash is long washed away.
They sit among stones,
Tendrils of weeds.
Can anyone identify and name them
Among the petrified earth?

A window into the soul
A drought across the landscape.
Whiffs and wisps of smoke on the wind
Crackling sounds of burning trees and grasses.
Waves of flame sweep over a landscape
And even forgotten charcoal
Glows red again.
Flames dance and animate
An inner fire, that only rested
But was never extinguished.

incy wincy spider got stuck in a spout
his *** was far too big  there was no way out.

so they called the plumber to set poor incy free
the plumber got him out a clever chap was he.

incy lost some weight his fat *** now has gone
now up and down the drainpipes he can carry on

there was a little cat and his name was bob
he just love to burgle always on the rob
he would rob the rich and give to those ineed
a very friendly cat a thoughtful cat indeed

climbing up the drainpipes he was very fit
with his torch and sack his little burgle kit
getting in through windows that were left ajar
a proper little thief a litttle burgle star

roaming round the house to see what he could find
that would help the poor he was very kind
looking through the draws and the wardrobes to
searched in every room like the burglers do

then he would get his ***** put it in his sack
wiping off his finger prints not leave his track
then off to help the poor the little cat would go
donating all his ***** gave there hearts a glow

now his deed was done just like robin hood
he had helped the poor just like he said he would.
then he fell asleep tired now was he
happy and content as happy as can be

Light spills from doorways and streetlamps
Reaching for you but always falling short.
You are alone in a pool of darkness
Windows yawning and empty.
Shards of glass glitter faintly,
Strewn in the dirt around you like stars orbiting a black hole.
Vines twist among the bricks
Digging into the intimate parts of you,
The cracks and weaknesses,
Prying back doors and invading your drainpipes and fire escapes.
Long since collapsed,
The roof hangs in shreds
Letting the night pour into you
Cool and unsettling
Like black water.
You are not empty
You are filled.
You hold what I hold.
Something different.
Something ancient.
Something cold.
Life creeps into you
Around you
Crawling, unseen, through the basements and shuttered rooms
Crumbling ancient paint so that it falls from the walls and ceilings
In sheets like heavy rain.
You are filled with deathly life
You are filled with
What cannot die,
What endures.
You are not a ruin, not to me.
You are a shrine to things lost
To moments of silence and suffering
You are an echo of the dark power that seeps up from the dirt and coils in my stomach
Whenever I step outside at night.
I press my palms to you:
Nourish me.
Feed me darkness
And I will feed you
Secrets.
Give me silence.
Give me peace.
Give me
Solidity.
Make me stone.

sumatra drips like crocodile tears in
the four-cup *** just half-emptied by nine
big and bought on faith in un-lone-li-ness
drainpipes eroding from her miscalculation

swallowed black and quickly
her white teeth uncompromised so far
her step-by-step morning still clockwork

but when she was eighteen she watched the
cream like squid ink clouds turn it
the color of his summer skin
drinking up the baby hangovers to the
last drop

the child molestor gets captured in the psych ward



harry thumping was a simple guy who loved the quiet life, but there was an evil side

which made him grab kids and feel their *****’s or vaginas and tie them up to the

jungle jim, and each day the kids saw harry they all screamer hoping that harry

won’t grab them, but harry grabbed on child and tied him up and then he grabbed

another kid and said heh heh heh, and every time he went home, the voices said

your still like the kids matey, heh heh heh, which was just a voice, but it seemed

real for harry as the force was pushing harry down saying your still a young dude

your still a little young dude, i will keep treating you like this, till he stop grabbing children

in the park, you see you are a hooligan harry, you are a danger to our children, and harry’s dad

said, why are you a shy hooligan, harry, be like us, be a family person, don’t think moo cow and ships

on children’s legs, it seems weird, you can go to gaol for that, you need to understand we are looking after

you right, you can’t go around grabbing kids in parks, you could force a lot of good people to be *****

and you must lose that voice your still a young dude, because the kids are young dudes harry

you are an awful man and harry went out ******* with his father and grabbed a few children

at the park and this kid was devious and cunning and told the police and the police caught harry

and he had to spend the night in the lockup and harry asked the police how long will i be in here

and the police yelled out A LONG TIME, thinking that harry was a hardened criminal or something

and with harry’s phone call, he phoned his parents, and they were shocked, and said why would a son of mine

go around committing crimes like this, you see we love kids and i thought harry did too, and mr thumping gave

ron a call and said, i think my son harry is mental because he got caught for grabbing kids at the park, and

i want to pay you $400-000 to give my son the best help possible, i am sure my son is mental because we are

a law abiding family and ron went over to the police station and picked up harry and brought him over to the

HDU, where ron will talk to find out what his reason for his crime, and harry thumping said i have these evil

thoughts on sexually assaulting kids and ron asked why do you do this, do you hate kids, and harry said

no, i like kids, i just am playing a little game, where i slice their moo cows and rip their ships in half and

every time a kid passes me, he will run and say, ya can’t get me harry darry, i said, leave those old fogies on their own

aqnd come to my cage, where i will rip your moo cows and destroy your ships and i remember these boys who saw

me crawling through the drainpipes, but they did nothing to me there, but in my voices i can hear them teasing me

so i took revenge on kids at the park, and ron said do you realise you look like a phedaphile, and harry said

no, i didn’t then, but i do now, thanks for telling me, i am no phedaphile, i just wanted to get them kids back to what is being

said in my voices, ron asked as the lunches were being brought out, you do realise that the voices are not real, and

harry said no, but i do now, i think and harry joined big harry and tommy and patty roe and charlie chaplin for the big lunch

feast, and ron went to his computer to see what is wrong with harry thumping and then looked into risperidal which will slow his

urges down and it could also slow his body down too, but while he is after kids, we have to take our chances, and until the

medications kick in, we must put him in our isolation room, for tommy’s safety, but ron thought that was very extreme

seeing he likes talk therapy and medication, as it works much better, and after lunch, ron took harry thumping to the

isolation room to rest till the end of the day, it wasn’t easy, as harry was kicking and biting and scratching ron, like he

was a wild animal escaping from the zoo, and when they eventually took harry to the isolation room, he was given a ******

which put him to sleep for 5 hours, and then as soon as ron noticed he was up, ron brought his dinner in, and harry said, thanks to him

and after he ate dinner, he put the TV on in the isolation room, and watched the news, and when the news labelled him

a convicted pedaphile, he yelled for hours

GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT

GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT

I AM NOT A PEDAPHILE, I WAS MERELY PLAYING WITH THE KIDS

I AM NOT A PEDAPHILE

GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT GET ME OUT

and ron came in and said, is there anything i could help you with, and harry said, the fucken world are saying i am a pedaphile

and i am a player, i play with kids, and ron said, yeah i realise you might’ve been playing but the kids didn’t want you to grab them

yiou touched these kids against their will, you were inappropriate and harry said, yeah maybe so, but i wasn’t meaning them no harm

and ron said, here is risperidal, this will slow down the urges you have, ok, and ron said remember that pedaphile label, is probably the press

and parents of the children, it’s not us, ok, so relax and we will come in and give you some supper and ron didn’t go at that point, he wanted

to take the supper into harry, because, the victims are always looking out for each other, and i don’t think harry is safe outside these walls

for the time being, and ron added that, it’s good he’s got his own TV, we might be able to get close to understanding what triggered him off

especially if he said he ain’t a pedaphile, and at supper time, ron took 8 sandwiches and a hot chocolate to harry, and he was watching

greys anatomy, and there was a pedaphile there as well, and harry said, i don’t mean to harm the kids, i was just playing, you see look

at this kid here, waiting for his mother to be finished her operation, now, if i gave kids like him happiness, it’lbe alright and ron said, no

it isn’t alright, it’s not appropriate you see, sure the kids will say yes, but they are really small and vulnerable and if i allowed that

i could be up on charges for allowing it and you will be in gaol for doing it and after the supper was finished, ron took it back to the kitchen

and clocked off and went to the pizza hut to buy a pizza and then went home to his couch, ate pizza and watched TV and then fell asleep

on the couch, thinking about what he could do for harry thumping

We pull our knees in and listen to stories,
wait for our own name to appear. Floating by
on a six-panel door or stitched into fabric scraps
still raw at the edges but slick
as mirrors or chalked on the ceiling too high
to brush away even with a telescoping hand.

Our name comes marching from the five
o’clock shadow tree line howling itself
and blocking the light switch.
We lag on hinges but keep it outside
never asking how it came and where
from. It can’t break and enter
if the door is already open. Only enter, listen
for bootsteps, for hot handprints in the snow.

We learn to slide our names under the door,
crawl back behind it. Shove our fingers
into locks, feel around for the trigger. We are
drainpipes thickening with sediment
bit by bit for years, everything passing
through, waiting like an open mouth.

Our name leaves stepping
in its own tracks and we follow,
find solid ground. We build bridges,
draw maps to it, curl our edges in around us.
Since we are not cartographers--we cry
too easily--our whole lives are spent
killing time, searching for seams, more folds
to get lost in. Lives spent like pennies,
faces pressed hard into the fountain bed.

I fight with demons in the night who come unbidden to my room and there's no hiding place they don't know and so no place for me to go and the night comes to me quickly now, the days grow shorter and the shadows rise up drainpipes or fall down from the chimney breast.

These demons who would come to flay me or succubi who wish to 'lay me' (Americans I presume) in the gloom all have a smell about them, the smell of something old or dead, these, the demons fly into my eyes and in my head it's just a game, a catch me if you can, the demons there, though not tame are well behaved, like Jesus gonna save them souls!

Honour and the roles we play
we all pay in the end
and I with demons, do defend their right
to visit me, but
every night is
*******.

It thrills me
The haphazard drumbeats
The hushed, excited whisper of the wind
Churning the leaves on the branches
This is a night for excitement
The rush of cool water down drainpipes
A rolling roar of thunder
The patter slows, then stops,
Then starts again.
How the rain washes away
I feel lightheaded
White light on the windowsill
Washing over the navy sky
A great murmur of crackling sound
The branches on the magnolia tree
Stark black, barely visible now
How much power must you feel,
Thunderstorm,
To give so much life
Take away
Frighten the people
Yet hold them in your embrace
Gently wrapping them up
In your light it lights up brighter than the day
How can you be so harsh, yet comforting
Wailing, tearing ripping, growling
Yet soft as silk
So empowered
The elements giving you strength
Wild I can only think of dark grey
No bland about this Abnegation
Thoughts are whirling away
Swirling by like leaves down brooks
The mind is a fickle thing when faced
With the bright glass eye
That
Dancing
Singing
Stabbing
Stinging
Storm.

The sun drags itself
onto the horizon,
as it does each day.

The smell of last night's rain,
still lingering mindlessly.

We are in your little black car.

I ride shotgun
      while you drive.

It's littered with papers
and opened letters
I always feel awkward
when there's no speaking
as the car's radio is broken.

Just the low rumble
of the weak engine
to fill the void of silence.

So I play out a song
in my mind and
wonder if you
simultaneously do the same.

We stop at a filling station,
where I buy breakfast and
you purchase petrol.

As you pump,
I tell the lady
behind the deli counter
what I'd like and
what you'd like.

She shoots me a
Cold glance,
It must be what
I'm wearing -
black brogues,
black drainpipes,
tweed jacket,
polka dot shirt -
Or possibly my hair -
It's too long for a boy,
yet too short for a woman - she'd think.

Country folk
like to stare,
they don't get much
to look at,

so when they do,
they want to remember it.

I say thanks
and pay
and leave.
We get back to the car,
you try to get in quick, and
end up clocking your nose with
the driver's side door.

As you sit down and
check out yourself in the mirror,
I'm surprised it's
not pouring out blood,
like a pathetic fountain.
You run a tissue across it.

-Jamie

A shower does not melt away my stress,
it is my mask of fake joy
that I wear throughout the day
travelling down the drainpipes instead.

With the streaming water falling upon me,
my tears are not lonely—
but without the warm embrace of this water,
I do not feel real.

Are you like me and still waiting for the punch line
and
at about lunch time on the third day when you realise that
there's no way anything's happening
you give up?

I thought that anti ****** was put on drainpipes to stop kids and cats climbing them
haha
some men eh!


things change because that's what things do
new lamps for old sort of thing
but
you can bring me the last century any
day of the week and I'll be happy with that.

To cry for help in an empty room,
To slit a wrist with a notebook page,
To try to chase away the gloom,
To try and try, but things don't change.

To live and die not knowing why,
Happiness you never felt,
Lets only your wishes slide,
Into drainpipes of contempt,

To laugh at your own demise,
To let irony build a wall,
To make sarcasm as sharp as lies.
To let hate warm up your soul.

To **** the one for he feels better,
To **** yourself because you're worse,
To not know why you're doomed to shatter,
To truly hate the universe.

To live and die, not knowing when,
The laughter will turn into screams,
And fill your heart with a calming sense,
When my nightmares are your dreams.

You see I am a hooligan from way back
I got in the way of people
I fought people
Slapped them ******* the back
It really wasn’t me to do that
But I look at it as being
The hooligan from way back
I used to drink lots of beer
And chucking the empties
On top of the Catholic school roof
And I had fun doing that but I needed to be reformed
You see I am the hooligan from way back
I was playing with the kids
Sometimes it was inappropriate
But it was easy to do
Some cried some let me play with them and it didn’t worry me
Because I was the hooligan from way back
You see I used to pretend I was visiting a mate in emu ridge but instead I was watching the front door till somebody came out
I didn’t know what I was doing
I was just the hooligan from way back
I hear people call me a **** when I be an adult because
With me, well I was the hooligan from way back
I was q normal average teenager who had problems
And I terrorised the streets of my city
You see I was the hooligan from way back
You see I was feeling threatened by my father and I say why
Because I was the hooligan from way back
You see I hated being teased
I hated the itchy feeling I got
When the other kids teased me
But I was the hooligan from way back and I must say
I was the hooligan from way back leaving the big angry man
On his own
I mean I love life
And I love the planet
It is nice and comfortable
Yes I am cool
I read and say I am a cold kid mate
But I am the hooligan from way back saying to everyone
Time to party time to swing
Yeah yeah yeah
Being a hooligan is fun for all
Feeling all scruffy and messy
Not worrying about the clean cut nerds who are the teasers
Of myself, the hooligan from way back, cool as cool can be
I squeeze my way through drainpipes and it fucken-well was a tight squeeze but I did it and some nerdy old family person toasted me with a beer
You see I am the hooligan from way back
Nothing bothers me
Being the hooligan from way back makes me say
*** is evil and so is family stuff
So sit in my room saying
I am the hooligan from way back and I can’t change my actions
I am the hooligan from way back yeah I feel cool, calm and collected

Could we make it otherwise
if truth are lies?

What the eyes see
is that truth enough for me?

Are the hands of the almighty
so tightly wrapped around the cause
for effect?


Shazam,
the caped crusader
Batman's on the lam.

I'm crawling up the walls here
climbing through my veins
slipping down the drainpipes
disengaging from the mains.


But it could have been so different
if I had worked to make it last

But again a but, but better that than not a
but at all.

I'll climb or crawl the wall again
or fall again in the attempt.

A Premature Soul
As I cry out
My merlot washes through the drainpipes
Is comfort ever possible?
£30 richer- nevermind.
I’m waiting for you at the staircase for you- again.
Circular motions
Circular motions
Thick and Wide and the flattened lilac flowers in our kitchen
Im Yearning