And we all go together, on this lonely road
And we all go together, on this lonely road
In our motorcars, and handlebars
Walking through the looking glass
We all go together on this road

Gallant sailors of the symphony
Pack your things it’s time to go
Can you hear the tolling of the iron bells
The placid pounding of the waves below

And we all go together, on this lonely road
And we all go together, on this lonely road
In our motorcars, and handlebars
Walking through the looking glass
We all go together on this road

Your dreams go swimming on the open shore
Wrap your wings around this newfound land
Songs of solace ring out in a plastic cup
Washed out by the waves upon the sand

And we all go together, on this lonely road
And we all go together, on this lonely road
In our motorcars, and handlebars
Walking through the looking glass
We all go together on this road

And we all go together, on this lonely road
And we all go together, on this lonely road
In our motorcars, and handlebars
Walking through the looking glass
We all go together on this road

Dennis was a citizen
A denizen, a resident
Of somewhere near a motorway
A hideaway most opulent
Ensnared amid the railway
And trail ways for motorcars
A haven from the modern day
The takeaways and trendy bars

But shattered in the summer morn
His rest was torn by hammering
Invading what was once inert
So to his curtains clamouring
He banished each to either side
He threw them wide with knuckles white
And saw in front of his abode
Across the road, a building site

A certainty within his mind
Did slowly wind his purpose tight
And with a grim determined jaw
Across the floor he took to flight
Descending stairs without a care
His morning hair resembling
A dandelion set to seed
In need of disassembling

He strode across his dining room
And snatched a broom which lay by chance
Against the table by the door
And held before him like a lance
He mounted his beloved bike
A cycle like no other made
And on a builder set his sight
With all his might and unafraid

He charged his foe at quite a rush
And with his brush, the builder smote
And leaping from his trusty steed
He did proceed to stop and gloat
Before resuming in his spate
The builders mate did turn and run
To raise the dragon, JCB
It roared with glee and wheels spun

So Dennis, though his ears resound
With just the pound of noble heart
Did firmly stand and face the beast
His brow was creased and feet apart
He struck the creature savagely
And stubbornly with just his head
And that, according to the news
Was what the paramedics said

The End

I’m sick of this electric energy
sub ways and motorcars
crumby rain and distraught smiles
empty faces gloom
shadows lurch and hang in dead air
untouched is the love that has collected dust
fallen into the synthetic mist
racing  speeds
                           fast
                                     fast
                                                zoom
                                                              and then it ends…
I want that electric energy
To show its impurities
To become raw
To become real
***** braces and zit cream
backwards living and hand sanitizer
***** breast enlargements and diet pills
***** not smiling
Afraid to appear too forward
***** smiling because you’re afraid people will think you’re negative
Afraid…
Afraid of what?
Just hold onto yourself and do as you please
Simply  because you enjoy It, because it sparks you on fire igniting your passions
Feel the rain
Let it fall onto your skin
Free of products
Free your skin from these creations
Made by man
Man craving more and more
Greed and hunger
Do not feed that man
Let him
Embrace
The level he is at
Let him learn to feel satisfaction
And how it works in opposition
The more you feed the hungrier you get
Let that rain penetrate deep inside of you
Notice the nature
The beauty
Close your eyes
And stop
Nothing is anything
And nothing is everything
Don’t be locked in chains your whole life
Only you hold the key
Forget the ideas
That made you feel
Anything but yourself
And remember
The wisdom you gained from hardships
Negativity is a sinking boat
Hold onto that flying power with positive thoughts and creations
Let your spirit soar high racing through the clouds let you become you
And please
Forget
That electric energy

motorcars and cycles
weaving the fabric
of surround sound..
a dog barks
a honking horn
distant siren
these cut the fabric
offer their names..
is this picture
a dark iteration
of the Field
with creation
interrupting...

Rattlesnake*
      or *of zealous sapphire

An era of old and golden skies,
in a desert of silent-film sienna,
ragtime sepiatone and a pyrite sunrise,
pinstriped wiseguys sold the valley sand,
fit in felt fedoras and shaking leather hands
on namesakes ornate with glowing jewels,
a boulevard curbed and paved,
concrete stiles and marble tiles upon
a cosmic palisade of glass, inlaid
and framed in miles and miles
of brass and brightly colored burning gas.
A glamorous new epoch burst forth,
avaricious in its incandescent gloss,
when they raised this monument
of the brightest kind, we gained,
and some gave a dear cost in trade
for the cones inside of our eyes.

I am a chemical reaction
that reels recklessly
between dancing Stardust
and downward spiral.
I am charisma so coy.

We've all slivered shades of silver
and sugar coursing through our veins,
spears poised upon the ancient prairie,
blades of bone, bending bows, and
coursing prey on prehistoric plains.
Mixed in us and inherited still, this thrill -
the chill, the chase and the payoff,
the risk and the waiting, the praying
your scent, your sense, or dollars and cents
aren't fatally spirited away.
Lately, the ferns are thinning
so we've traded them for sins
and felt of the same color,
our hoards of arrowheads and clubs
printed now upon paper cards,
reticulum tuned not for tracking or furs,
but spinning and flashing,
whistling, whirrs, and winning motorcars.

I've a heart that's Horseshoe shaped,
a lucky charm I risk on,
and win and lose on,
and always hope
at least for an even break.

The triumphs of man are the product
of cams and crankshafts, pistons and oil,
plumes of shadow spewing into the sky.
Westward ran the rails, stacking bricks wide,
raising sticks high and uncoiling telegraph wire
into the furious bustle of industrial-grade hustle,
an inchoate flag, perfect suits,
three card monties, and filthy collars
all of zealous sapphire.
Generations admire at the Union's gate
the stately electric minarets pushing skyward,
towering metal tracks ushering light
onto a sphynx of quartz, pitch as pusher breath,
delta at the neon roads,
where chrome locomotives out of Chicago
braked in the glow of this phosphorescent portico
once plated in droptop Eldorados.

My parents are celebrated people,
so I was celebrated in kind
my birthday blazoned
over my hometown Plaza.
A worthy place and worthwhile time.

I drive this canyon oftentimes alone
and watch the sparkle of the valley unfold before me.
It's a sea of glittering scales, hissing "welcome home,"
I'm secure in this coiled-up crotalus that so adores me.

High rise, veins of the avenue
Bright eyes and subtle variations of blue
Everywhere is balanced there like a rainbow above you
Street lights glisten on the boulevard
And cold nights make staying alert so hard
For heaven's sake, keep me awake so I won't be caught off guard
Clearly I am a passerby but I'll find a place to stay
Dear pacific day, won't you take me away?
Small town hearts of the New Year
Brought down by gravity, crystal clear
City fog and brave dialogue converge on the frontier
Make haste, I feel your heartbeat
With new taste for speed, out on the street
Find a road to a humble abode where both of our routes meet
The silver sound is all around and the colors fall like snow
The feeling of letting go, I guess we'll never know

Cheer up and dry your damp eyes and tell me when it rains
And I'll blend up that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins
'Cause your heart has a lack of colour and we should've known
That we'd grow up sooner or later 'Cause we wasted all our free time alone

Your nerves gather with the altitude
Exhale the stress so you don't come unglued
Somewhere there is a happy affair, a ghost of a good mood
Wide eyed, panic on the getaway
The high tide could take me so far away
VCR's and motorcars unite on the Seventh Day
A popular gauge will measure the rage of the new Post-Modern Age
'Cause somewhere along the line all the decades align.

We were the crashing whitecaps
On the ocean
And what lovely sea-side holiday, away
A palm tree in Christmas lights
My emotion
Struck a sparkling tone like a xylophone
As we spent the day alone

Cheer up and dry your damp eyes and tell me when it rains
And I'll blend up that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins
'Cause your heart has a lack of color and we should've known
That we'd grow up sooner or later 'cause we wasted all our free time alone.

We don’t need words when our hearts beat together
We could listen to them softly pump our blood forever
They beat back and forth to each other in many varied pulses
And sing each other songs that come from our impulses
Our love lies with us together were we are
It could never shine brighter than it did underneath the stars
In beds under blankets or in motorcars .

a. Nocturne
Behold a heart full of stars,
a skyful of cyan grains
where we’ll watch motorcars
tracing the begonia plains.
Reflection of the pines so serene
in a pool daubed with turquoise and green.
An existence held by hands of elysian mould
paints the sundown with sapphires and gold.

On stygian seas,
the solemn moonlight smiles
as lighthouse turns
and tides caress the scattered isles.
Our dreams fill with saccharine desire
to cast melancholia into an astral fire.
Waves of warmth brush upon the gilded shore
of a pure euphoria we’ve wished to explore.

b. Island
The fires of your rainbowed tresses
endure the teeming tidal waves.
You’re dancing with starfish upon the seabed
and mingling in labyrinths from light overhead.

The mast is towering in summer air.
The sun is showering your seaward stare.

c. Nocturne
Our fantasies collide
upon a love laden tapestry
hung upon the universe
and doused in cerebral majesty.
Chameleon stalks in moonlit white
as the din of thunder quakes the night.
Old troubadour sings for the crumbling skies
and paints a floral temple within your lapis eyes.

d. Lullaby
Night’s dark halo o’er the city
showered with diamonds / veiled with gleams.
Sleepless labyrinth of gold lamplight
floods with ardor from empyrean dreams.
Night’s dark halo o’er luminous streams.

Laced in stillness, ghosts of the river,
a fog of nostalgia pours ‘cross the plain.
Silence wanders with cold shadows
trodding the orchard away from the rain.
Laced in stillness, our misty domain.

Song for slumber, a nebulous reverie
painting the valleys of our kindred minds.

e. Aubade I
Birdsong cradled on whispers of air
darkness engulfed with aurora.
Light pours across the emerald vale
and cascades upon sleeping flora.
Foxtails waver overlooking the shore,
blush skies fade to blue.
A caress of sea upon circle stones
as the sky dons a novel hue.

f. Aubade II
Dawn unveils dew swathed green /
sunlight parts the white-clad screen /
branches clutch foggy plumes
as river splits the forest womb.
We’re doused in rays of opaline,
a shawl of lavender rose,
and as our eyes fill with the morn,
we’ll paint our reams with loving prose.

Mists  collude  mysteriously  watching  
jungle  canopy  tops.  Irish  soldiers  
In their  base  on  a  verdant  mountain  side.  
By  the  pebble  track  and  the  graveyard,  
Our  tents  erected  inside  a  village  
school  ruins.  

Paths  built  from  river  rock,  
gullies  and  drainage  dug  around  
strong  tents.  Hard  work,  determined  grit.  
Water  supplies  and  rations  flown  in  
by  Chilean  helicopter  pilots.  
Existence  eked  normality  a  chore.  

I  gaze  at  their  barefoot  black  feet  
kicking  an  empty  plastic  bottle.  
Make  believe  goals  erected  in  the  slanting  field.  
Two  ad-hoc  teams  and  a  game  of  sorts.  
I  compare  it  to  my  schooldays.  

Red  windsock  unfurls  east  to  west  
also  proud  Tricolour  in  a  firm  wind.  
Behind  the  game,  dappled  horses  graze,  
branded  cattle  munch  wild  grass.  
Water  buffalo  lull  lazily,  comforting  
mud  pool  shielding  sun,  Clint  Eastwood  
stares.  Don't  mess  with  them.  

Coffee  in  my  hand  I  survey  all  
from  the  outside  wooden  table.  
Some  lads  jog  the  road;  duty  sentry  
at  the ******. Backdrop  tropical  trees  
and  fauna.  By  cicadas  bleat,  generator  grinds.  

Sport  during  my  youth  built  character  
I  was  told.  But  of  what  horrors  these  
infant  minds  were  exposed.  Collage  
******,  ****,  humiliation,  Bad  auguries  
which  corollaries  their  future  ideals.
  
They  have  no  ball  or  boots  
no  posts  to  shoot  at  and  no  nets  
to  burst.  I  hear  their  innocent  delightful  
cries  and  wish,  just  once,  I  had  the  power  
to  take  them  out  of  this  mire.  

Just  a  mere  glimpse  could  
perhaps  do  it.  Or  maybe  
take  them  all  up  in  an  aeroplane  
to  my  world  and  just  once  maybe  
hope  they  could  have  the  time  of  
their  lives  .To  touch  Cornucopia?  

Supermarket  shelves  packed  with  food  
and  sweets.  Fast  motorcars  in  beautiful  
cities  with  Walt  Disney  theme  parks.  
Shoe  shops,  football  boots,  new  cloths.  
Hot  showers  in  things  they  call  hotels!  
How  they  would  laugh  at  Bugs  Bunny  
And  awe  at  a  cinema  screen.
  
But  it  gets  chilly  now  and  my  
coffee  is  gone.  Twilight  assembles  
the  children  up  the  road  home.  
'Botarde' they  shout  to  me,  big  
Wave  and  smiles.  
And  I  realise  in  my  realistic  
heart  of  hearts,  that  probably  
they  have  just  had  the  time  of  their  lives.

Manifest these bindings
hold these wrists
press head to table
bludgeon up a little kiss,
dredge up a hint of, a whistling hiss
photogenic with hidden bruises
covered cuts and no smile
going under, hold it down,
be back around in just a little while

Every pause for thinking
is a speedway, motorcars are racing
collisions just happen
explosions are an expectation
it's a spectacle
it's a miracle
there's two voices like percussive instruments
of destruction, concussive, getting into it
their never ending argument
a dance they perform, back and forth
ladies and gents may I present!

Me, myself, and all my imaginary friends
we have a raucous time, billowing smoke
charging through points, while others stop and turn on a dime
it's so **** loud with all the pathways, there's not much of this tree I can climb
there are so many interpretations of people in my voice, in my head, I'm not so sure if I'm-
left- behind- I can't handle the cross talk
they're falling over each other, I'm drowning myself out
twitching and flinching, memory not photographic
can't give you evidence to prove it, you're not gonna get it
I can't even read enough into life, I'm spent and lethargic
looking pale, smelling dead, shuffling around like I'm sick
I can't read into a book, the monologue of my voice interrupts the narrative
if my brain finds solace in movies and games, then I build a dam
that bursts with insects toppling over, screaming incoherent, collective regret in so many different names
I get it, there's so much, it's a collective
I can't keep myself in line, I can't even remember
some of the most important places in time

They don't know what plotting and scheming means
it's ambiguous purposefully,
this isn't even poetry,
my life goes on without me
I say I plot and scheme, when I begin work on a project
because I like the context to mesh with life somewhat vaguely
and like a razor-veil, peel the skin off reality
that I may dip a toe in its blood, to come and go from it freely
my focus isn't held by anything today
and only moments ago my heart swelled with overwhelming empathy
I loved all people greater than myself, I held them high in regards that they were made equally
now I feel so hallowed, there is no sanctuary, I have nothing to give from the heart, there is not an inner piece of me
I feel ready to collapse, weep openly, sleep until even my unconscious is empty, and then I will wander without aim, hand in hand with misery, my most loyal company, lackadaisically, make my way back from where I sent this resented, repented, pent up part of my history.