Sit on the bed. I'm blind, and three parts shell.
Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.
Both arms have mutinied against me, - brutes.
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.


I tried to peg out soldierly, - no use!
One dies of war like any old disease.
This bandage feels like pennies on my eyes.
I have my medals? - Discs to meke eyes close.
My glorious ribbons? - Ripped from my own back
In scarlet shreds. (That's for your poetry book.)


A short life and a merry one, my buck!
We used to say we'd hate to live dead-old, -
Yet now... I'd willingly be puffy, bald,
And patriotic. Buffers catch from boys
At least the jokes hurled at them. I suppose
Little I'd ever teach a son, but hitting,
Shooting, war, hunting, all the arts of hurting.
Well that's what I learnt, - that, and making money.


Your fifty years ahead seem none too many?
Tell me how long I've got? God! For one year
To help myself to nothing more than air!
One Spring! Is one too good to spare, too long?
Spring wind would work its own way to my lung,
And grow me legs as quick as lilac-shoots.


My servant's lamed, but listen how he shouts!
When I'm lugged out, he'll still be good for that.
Here in this mummy-case, you know, I've thought
How well I might have swept his floors for ever.
I'd ask no nights off when the bustle's over,
Enjoying so the dirt. Who's prejudiced
Against a grimed hand when his own's quite dust,
Less live than specks that in the sun-shafts turn,
Less warm than dust that mixes with arms' tan?
I'd love to be a sweep, now, black as Town,
Yes, or a muckman. Must I be his load?


O Life, Life, let me breathe, - a dug-out rat!
Not worse than ours existences rats lead -
Nosing along at night down some safe rut,
They find a shell-proof home before they rot.
Dead men may envy living mites in cheese,
Or good germs even. Microbes have their joys,
And subdivide, and never come to death.
Certainly flowers have the easiest time on earth.
'I shall be one with nature, herb, and stone,'
Shelley would tell me. Shelley would be stunned:
The dullest Tommy hugs that fancy now.
'Pushing up daisies' is their creed, you know.


To grain, then, go my fat, to buds my sap,
For all the usefulness there is in soap.
D'you think the Boche will ever stew man-soup?
Some day, no doubt, if...


                                          Friend, be very sure
I shall be better off with plants that share
More peaceably the meadow and the shower.
Soft rains will touch me, - as they could touch once,
And nothing but the sun shall make me ware.
Your guns may crash around me. I'll not hear;
Or, if I wince, I shall not know I wince.


Don't take my soul's poor comfort for your jest.
Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds,
But here the thing's best left at home with friends.


My soul's a little grief, grappling your chest,
To climb your throat on sobs; easily chased
On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds.


Carry my crying spirit till it's weaned
To do without what blood remained these wounds.

I've a sinking friendship,
Torpedoed by the *******,
And listing.
The first mate mutinied.
Once a blood brother,
Like no other;
An intimate
At an imminent end,
An alter-ego
More than a friend.

I've been too patient,
Veered off course
With understanding.
I'm quite sure
This Pythias
Would run and leave me
Hanging.

I'm on a cliff
And won't hang on
To a blade of trust,
A fawning pawn.
He had my back,
I turn,
He's gone.

This partisan
Must part
A homeless homeboy,
A dissembling fraud.

No longer a mainstay,
He's insecure,
His equivocations
Make lines blur,
I don't believe
Him anymore.

He really needs a soul-mate,
Classmate, playmate,
But he's become a reprobate,
Lying prostrate,
Lying up straight.
I'll drown my Boswell
In my inkwell;
No longer
An advocate.

The laughs have left,
Yes,
I'm bereft,
But I'll catch the wind.
My course is true.
This friendship
Can't be salvaged.
It's scuttled,
And I won't
Sink with you.

You all pass me by as though I am invisible
I am the **** of the Earth and you see no dignity in me
No one knows my story, no one knows of the pain in my eyes
I have seen some really disturbing things
When it was all too much, I just decided to become a solipsist
I dreamt everything out of existence,
I became the only reality

All else just felt and seemed unreal,
I stepped out of a program…
I see you law abiding denizens; wrapped up in your safe and controlled lives
I watch upon the thrill you revel in when lost in consumer behavior
I will tell you a story of cannibalism,
Long ago when the serpents fled into caverns, there were offshoots of half-human/half-serpent, the serpents were the starving peoples of the community
   For most tribes received energy from swimming in the oceans and listening to the sunset and eating vegetation and berries in the forests

So the serpents mutinied, manipulated the tribes to start worshiping the Sun and fearing the Seas
So soon enough they controlled the supply of food and cutting of trees…
In this way the tribes would have to answer to them and this is how the tribes became slaves to the serpent-man offshoots
This story is of cannibalism; yes --- the tribes became food for the serpents, not in a physical sense but rather the energy field in which man was trapped
Was so low that brother would slay brother and members of the family stole from each other.
****** spread, it became a lawless   society but it was a perfect harvest for the human farmers, for this negative energy was their food. In time pyramids would be built and technology exchanged,
Soon advanced civilizations developed and the human farming would take on different forms

There would be malls, money and skyscrapers to furnish a material aesthetic farm. The slaves or food of old would become consumers (consumers-or-the consumed) who would be esteemed
With occupations and certain chosen members, who were once priests, sorcerers would then evolve to be experts and politicians. This herd would then look to them for guidance…
So man build homes, has good credit, belongs to a religion, has a flamboyant social life and is basically kept entertained. So souls would incarnate only to be mined, every generation protecting and perpetuating the scripts of old bestowed upon man by the supercilious tyrants. This would, in the corporate world, mean appreciating clients.

But I am just a hobo on the streets, you wouldn't when you’re trapped in a square couch, watching a little box called television, secured in a huge box called a house.
I feel the rain, I shine with the sun, I freeze with the cold, I see people come and go. I have learned it all, now I wait for the saucer people to come and get me to take me home….
But for now I am a hobo on the streets, (sigh) all alone.

the stars won’t shine here
and it’s more than some can bear
a whole world mutinied and started living in Clouds
monotony scaled trees until it screened the firmament


yet there’s one left behind with the rot
pondering the theft of good health
the kind that improves the lot
shallow as a bath

Love in the doldrums a place of storms and squalls ,with light shifting winds

The crew mutinied soon after the voyage began, but I cannot quit I must try again

This ship that I sail on this unforgiving sea, has a wheel and and a sail that won't respond to me

Please get me out of this horrible place.storms every night ,no wind in the day, my sails to embrace.

For years I've captained this vessel of doubt . attempting to right its ill fated course.i cry in the night my ship for a horse.

To scuttle this ship is all I have left .to send it and it's misery to the watery depths

Love drowns slowly in a calm sea. resolute to my faith I take a deep breath.

A blitz of hairy sun
broke the neighbor's
camel-breaded lip
& thumbed its way
into bed with me.
The new couch
was shining
like silver bread,
& the cat stalked coinage
across the wainscot face.
Pulling myself
from Saturday's tomb,
I mutinied against
this frenzied easting,
befriending a bottle
whose contents
was gauze for the heart -
even at 7,
I can only think of you.