I sometimes have too much to think
Mind liquidised by the blades of conflicting aims
A maelstrom of ideas, words and feelings,
Whipping up a sea boiled by emotional gales.

The fine cutter of thought, though elegant
Is tossed like a cork, compass spinning
And can only weather such a storm
Sails in tatters, with I strapped to her main mast.
Only a vessel with the assured tonnage of true purpose can make headway here,
And that, a rare ship in my oceans,
So take me in tow,
To a safe berth,
Where this cutter might wait out the tumult
And, unfurling new sails, take once more to calmer seas.

The clocks are quickly ticking, rushing me further onward,
Yet nothing really seems to change aboard this grand train.
The starting station is long a forgotten sight from afar,
As a million only well-dressed people shut the curtain to hunt a star.

No things will halt The Times today, or our most important endeavours
Five down is completed now and – I stumble! (the train’s slowing judders)
Christ, my leg! – it’s filthy down here…. And I find suddenly there's no time for care  
Glancing through the compartment door – no: I’m transfixed, and I stare

Goodness. A gracious bombardment of purest light,
Crystalline, through the porthole’s grime.
Refracting into purples, and blues, and yellow sights!
So this is how beauty blossoms, allowed time.

Suits, ties, over-priced liquidised decadence
Are overcome, barely visible, amidst her the flower’s resonance
And blissfully reducing my colleagues to uttering, babbling nonsense
Until I hear the gunshot crack

The wheels regain motion
Re-shredding morals to smithereens
Though I cry, desperate to see her through bloodshot eyes
She’s left me only dark red puddles though the doorway

Liquid days when the morning
Mist whispers and the woman's
Touch softens in bed under
The pelting romance of raindrops.

Moist Earth of liquid hearts, when
The solitude melts away from
The the tumbles grey and the
Light flashes across the myriad
Of sky tirelessly crackles and lifts
One out of the depression.

Steaming Earth, when the body
Is melting like clay in summer's
Tears, when two become one in
The moist of the Rivers, water turns
Into life and the soul is freed
In youth.

Wet Earth when the Angel's tears
Cry for their knowingness,
Who wish to make the Fall
And bathe in the love of man,
Petrification of the motivated as
The tears flow down un-sinning .

Rain upon the Earth,
Like a woman in her bath,
The stress falling away with
Each droplet,
The edification of her day,
The supplication of living water,
Up on the squall we dance
In thought ,inciting the flood
Within a liquidised existence.

she was looking for a purse



the shop was closed and

the guy with the longer hair

said it had gone broke



liquidised



the other said he lived in the doorway now



i could see it was good and deep

and with no customers

nil disturbance



he said

he lost the plot

when his mother died

ended in prison

before his new home

less

ness



in the doorway of the jewellery shop

with unsold rings over one thousands

pounds in the window



the first guy commented a wonder

no one had smashed the glass and

grabbed



sometimes he said

he liked a drink

made things feel better a while



she did not get her purse