YOU SEE I ONCE PREFERRED TO BE A HOOLIGAN, TO AVOID GETTING TEASED



YOU SEE YOU SHOULDN’T DO THE CRIME, IF YOU CAN’T DO THE TIME

YOU SEE I SHOULDN’T TREAT ME LIKE A KIDNAPPER OR HOOLIGAN IF YOUR NOT PREPARED TP MUCK FAMILY FOR ME

YOU SEE PLAYING COOL FOR FAMILY PEOPLE WITH A FEAR OF THEM TEASING YA

AND MY ONLY SOLACE OS TO BE A HOOLIGAN, SAYING, YOU ARE A LITTLE FAMILY KID

TEASING THE COOL HOOLIGAN IN ME, YOU DO WOOSEY FAMILY GAMES

WHILE I PLAY WITH THE BIG DUDES BY THROWING BEER BOTTLES ON SCHOOL ROOVES’

YOU SEE I LIKED THE SOLACE OF A HOOLIGAN, BECAUSE I WAS BEING PROTECTED

FROM BEING TREATED LIKE A WOOSEY FAMILY KID, BEING A WOOSEY IN EVERY STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION

I WANTED REALLY TO BE A BIG FAMILY PERSON, BUT THEY CAN’T UNDERSTAND

THAT I DON’T WANT TO BE A LOSER, MAN, I WANT TO BE A HOOLIGAN, CAUSE, I THREW BEER CANS ON ROOVES, MAN I’M COOL

AND CRACKING BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE ROADS, MAN I’M COOL

I WAS A BIT OF A TEASER IN THE CLUB, MAN I’M COOL

YOU SEE I GO OUT TO BIG NYE RAVES, WHILE MY YOUNG MATE GROWS UP TO QUICKLY, MAN I’M COOL

I PLAY COOL FOR FAMILY KIDS PLAYING WITH THEIR FAMILIES, MAN I’M COOL

I STOLE A HAT FROM GRACE BROTHERS, MAN I’M COOL

I TEASED MY DADDY, ONLY BECAUSE NO MATTER HOW MUCH MY DAD CARED FOR ME

I NEVER UNDERSTOOD HIS PARENTING SKILLS, HE WAS A GOOD DAD, I NEVER UNDERSTOOD IT, SO I SAID TO MYSELF

YOU NEVER TEASE A SON OR DAUGHTER, UNLESS YOUR SON OR DAUGHTER CAN HANDLE IT

YOU SEE DAD WAS TEASING ME, BUT I THOUGHT SAYING I WAS A HOOLIGAN GETS RID OF THIS AWFUL TEASING

I KNOW DAD, WASN’T REALLY TEASING ME, HE THOUGHT I WAS LOVING BAD THINGS

BUT TELLING ME TO EAT NICELY OR CALLING ME A FOOL, DOESN’T DO ANYTHING

OR LAIGHING AT ME DOESN’T WORK EITHER, HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE A DAD,

BUT I LOOKED AT HIM AT BEING A AWFUL TEASER, FINE, I MIGHT NOT LOOK STRONG, BUT THIS CAN HYPE PEOPLE UP

I LIKED HOW DAD, STOPPED THESE STUPID SITUATIONS, I HATED ME AND DADS LITTLE FIGHTS

I WAS TRYING TO DEFEND MYSELF, I DON’T WANT TP LIVE IN CANBERRA IF I HAD ENOUGH MONEY

TO LIVE ANYWHERE ELSE, I DON’T WANT TO GO TO THE DENTIST, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A FIST FIGHTER

I AM A LIFE FIGHTER, I AM PREPARED TO RIDE AROUND ON A SCOOTER, RATHER THAN DIE, SHY

NOTHING CAN **** BRIAN ALLAN, I WILL FIGHT FOR LIFE, CAUSE I LOVE LIFE, I LIVE LIFE LIKE IT’S ONE BIG ADVENTURE

I KNOW DAD CARED, BUT, REALLY, WHETHER I CAN FIGHT OR NOT LAUGHING AT SOMEONE WHO IS POOR IS NOT CALLED FOR BAZ BOY

I DON’T LIKE FIGHTING USING FISTS, THAT IS FOR LOSERS OR PEOPLE WHO ARE HAVING PROBLENS

I WANTED TO CHANGE DAD, CAUSE HE WAS MY DAD, I UNDERSTAND MY BROTHER AND MATES

BUT I CAN’T UNDERSTAND DAD, HE WASN’T REALLY SYMPETHEDIC TO MY NEEDS AS A DRUNK

AND I HATED THE VOICE, MY BROTHER WAS LIKE DAD, AND I AM TOO WOOSEY TO BE LIKE DAD

UNLESS YOU TELL WHAT YOUR PROBLEM WAS, WELL I’LL TELL YA

MY PROBLEM WAS, I HATED HOW DAD, WANTED TO TEASE WITH THE ADULTS

YOU SEE, I PUNCHED HIM, SOMETIMES SO VERY HARD, I HATED BEING TREATED LIKE An IDIOT

OR A LITTLE WOOSEY FOR LIFE, DAD TRIED TO HELP ME, BUT BECAUSE MY BROTHER REALLY HELPED DAD GET HIS WAY A BIT

I NEVER WAS GOOD ENOUGH TO DAD, AS LONG AS I WORKED AND NEVER COMPLAINED, DAD IS HAPPY

BUT AS SOON AS I STARTED TO BREAK THE FAMILY CODE, DAD SAID YOUR STILL A LITTLE SHY BOY, BRIAN

YOU SEE I HATED BEING TREATED LIKE A LITTLE SHY BOY OR A LITTLE WOOSEY

DAD SEEMS TO LOVE TEASING PEOPLE WHO HAS PROBLEMS WITH  VOICES

AND I WAS TRYING TO TALK TO DAD AND MUM, AND THEY SPENT THE WHOLE TIME PLAYING WITH THEIR FUCKEN MOBILE PHONES

AND I SAID CAN YOU PLEASE STOP, HOW WOULD DAD FEEL IF I DID THAT TO HIM, I DID DAD HATED IT, LIKE WHEN I ACCEPTED BEING A SLOB

YEAH I AM NOW FEELING HAPPY ABOUT BEING A SLOB, AFTER DAD, DECIDED TO PLAY WITH HIS MOBILE PHONE

LIKE THE RICH ARROGANT DUDE HE WAS, HE NEVER SEEMED TO UNDERSTAND ME. I DIDN’T AS FOR FUCKEN SCHITZOPHRENIA, ****

AND DAD IMPLIED HE ONLY PREFERS THE PEOPLE WHO ARE COOL, IF THE PERSON, HAD MOJO ISSUES, DAD LOOKED DOWN ON THEM

MAKING THEM FEEL LIKE A LOSER, I TOLD DAD, YOUR A LOSER, YOU ONLY LIKE CHRIS, YOU TOLERATE ME CAUSE I AM YOUR SON

I MIGHT HAVE FUCKEN SCHITZOPHRENIA, AND I WILL NEVER BE EVER AS COOL AS YOUR PRECIOUS CHRIS

I KNOW, YOU CARED FOR US, IN THE SMALL PICTURE, BUT WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME MOVING TO ADELAIDE ONE DAY

I WANTED TO GET AWAY FROM MY PARENTS, CAUSE I AM NOT LIKE THE ****, WHO SUPPORT PARENTAL RIGHTS

MAYBE THAT IS WHY I AM NOT A PARENT MYSELF, DAD, NEVER LOOKED AT ME AS BEING A COOL PERSON

I HAD TO FUCKEN BEHAVE, I DON’T DO BEHAVING, I DO PARTYING

MUM AND DAD HATED ME TELLING THEM MY NAME AT THAT NYE CONCERT IN MERIMBULA

BUT I DID THAT, ON THE OFF CHANCE, I CAN BE FAMOUS, THE MESSIAH SAID, ALL PARENTS ARE LIKE THAT

WORRYING AND WORRYING, LIKE A PACK OF MOTHER HEN’S

I CAN’T HELP IT, IF I LIKED HOW THEY ACTED, AROUND THE TIMES WE FIGHTED, THEY WERE COOL THEN

PLEASE *******, I DON’T WANT TO FIGHT MY MUM NOW, SHE DOESN’T WANT TO BE LITTLE COOL

LIKE SITTING ON THE COUCH, THAT IS WHY I NEED TO BE REFORMED

UMMMMMMM REFORM BRIAN ALLAN   UMMMMMMMMMM BRIAN ALLAN IS NOW REFORMED

WELL, NOT YET, BUT, I WANT TO RID STUPID VOICES, OF EVERYONE TREATING ME LIKE A BABY

TO FUCKEN LEAVE MY HEAD, I DON’T WANT TO BE A BABY, I AM A GROWN UP, WHO IS CREATIVE

UMMMMMMMMM    I AM A CREATIVE ADULT  UMMMMMMMM I DON’T WANT TO BE TOUGHENED UP

UMMMMMMMMM I AM A ARTIST AND A WRITER AND A YOUTUBE ****** AND ENTERTAINER

UMMMMMMMMMM I AM A CREATIVE ADULT, TO GROW UP TO BE COOL, MAN

I HATED DAD TREATING ME LIKE A LITTLE YEAH MATE YEAH KID, AND I HATED PAT DOING THAT TOO

BUT UMMMMMMMMM THE ONLY ADULT I AM IS A CREATIVE ADULT, DUDES, I AM A CREATIVE MAN UMMMMMMMMMM

AND 1 2 3 4 DO THE SCHITZOPHRENIC, JUST BECAUSE YOU WORK DOESN’T MEAN YOUR NICE

YOU SEE WITH MEDICATION I CAN BE NICE, OH YEAH MATE YEAH, I AM SCHITZOPHRENIC

1 2 3 4 DO THE SCHITZOPHRENIC, I WANNA PARTY, LET ME HANG OUT

THE MEDICATION I TAKE, CAN REALLY REFORM ME, OH YEAH MATE YEAH I AM SCHITZOPHRENIC AND PROUD OF IT

YOU SEE, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A CRAZY COWARD, CAUSE I AM NOT A COWARD, I AM A FAMILY PERSON

WHO LOVES LIFE, AND LIVES LIFE TO THE FULL

I LIVE LIFE LIKE IT’S ONE BIG ADVENTURE, AND I HELP PEOPLE ONE BY ONE, THE BUDDHIST WAY, EVERY BLADE OF GRASS

I AM THE COOLEST DUDE IN CANBERRA, WHO HAS SCHITZOPHRENIA

ONLY RICH ARROGANT WITH NO REGARD FOR POOR MAN WELFARE WOULD TEASE ME

CAUSE I HELP POOR PEOPLE, DUDE, I AM POOR, BUT I AM PLANNING A TRIP TO ADELAIDE FOR NEXT YEARS NEW YEARS

I CAN’T CHANGE PEOPLE BUT I CAN CHANGE THEIR OPINIONS OF ME, I AM COOL, NOT SHY, OK ****

WITH THESE PROBS, YOU UNDERSTAND WHY I WANTED TO BE A HOODLUM, OK

Sometimes
         I feel a well
                   dug deep
         into my heart
  I try to stop it
but it quickly
becomes ocean
  and overflows  
     into great tsunami
          rises over all the levees
             rushes past dams                  
               breaks down tall
                   city structures,
              edifices crumbling
           in its path
     all the squid and octopi
    skitting forth
in wild pulses,
tentacles entangled
     in doorways and rooves
        slipping through narrow
                window-openings
                   as they pour ink
                       in clouds,
                         shifting shapes
                          in cephalopod excitement
                            while blue whales
                            and humpbacks
                               breach over bridges,
                             phosphorescent jellies
                          light up
                       the dark streets of
                      my arteries
                     electric eels illuminate
                    the alleyways of
                   desolation's thick syrup
                     and I cannot stop it even
                            if I wanted to,
                   these darkened,
                     swirling waves
I am both floating and flying
like a jumping manta ray
curling around the ferries
bobbing in seahorse iridescence
weaving between buses
as if they were corals

And when the storm subsides,
colorful rockpools form,
rich in diversity
It is there,
in between the
multicolored ***** and
succulent shellfish,
in a mermaid's
       voluptuous smile
and turquoise eye
that I see you,
so crystal clear
                I could reach out              
                      and bring you to me,          
                         holding you tight
                         until the
                gentle break
     of
          morning

dawn light
silhouettes the branches

dried leaves clatter
on the rooves and driveway

cardinal song
pierces the highway thrum

behind the rotting fence
a dog sniffs, whines and growls

the swimming pool scrubber
splashes and sinks with a shudder

one after the other descending planes
roar and then fade away

even in this labyrinth
of suburban sameness

everything is emerging
declaring itself

and then slipping away
like the feral cat

one moment
eyes locked on mine

next moment
disappearing behind the garage

Tom Spencer © 2018

A christmas carol brightens
a day of gloom and sorrow
on eve, my roof is whitened
the sleigh skids through tomorrow
The Christmas tree it sparks
some joy in times of dark
and if my way was had
each day we'd sing the Hark.

Impoverishment ?

The sheen
of sun
on parked cars'
rooves
and
bonnets -

materialistic gods
in many lands.

I was twenty years old when I started this lark
I'm older now but just as daft
Cos up and down all day I still go
In the wind and rain and sun and snow
Earning a dollar, earning a dime
On them old thatched roofs where I spend all my time.

I must have done hundreds in that time
Each one a challenge, a mountain to climb
Keeping the water out, leaving my mark
Making the cottages pretty and smart
Earning a penny, earning a pound
On them old thatched roofs where I can be found.

The work is hard, no easy days
No room here for lazy ways
I'm not quite as keen as I used to be
Those mountains get steeper it seems to me
I'm looking forward to an easier time
When I leave those old thatched rooves behind.

child- small voices sag
bomb-smoke rises from the ground
far off, birds still shake

Billy Striker blown
to Holland, the north sea wind
took weeks to fall

beforemourn chimneys
slate rooves yawn hunger,
one cigarette draws breath

moon crater on the
road to Derry, limousine
sarcophagus lands

siren scream and scrape
tears rigor mortis frozen;
the sea now quiet

hands across water
missing fingers, Gabriel
silent, the watcher

he’d stopped to look
smile asking the time of day,
pressing the trigger

one small death for man
one giant death for mankind,
eyes search behind moons

bicycle wheel turns
awkward lazy arm protrudes
broken flaying skin

obliteration,
scalpel dissects argument
camera’s detail

a.m. paper print
fortresses build stone by verse
each wall a chapter

retaliation,
leopard stalking, counter plot
begun in blueprint

burnt flesh of kingdoms
republic’s frost bitten dogs
bark anger blood ***

interrogation,
splattered kneecap agreement
hands shaking silence

investigation,
no stone unmoved, evidence
a silent quarry

old man keeping dust
one eye swollen, hunching armour
his grief in buckets



MChallis © 2015

moonbeam hides
in the corner
counting it's blessings
rooks settle onto old rooves

send the yeah mate yeah kids to bed, 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 4


you see i am a man with a smoke and i am angry

and i am sending the yeah mate yeah kids to bed

they have to clean their teeth and have a shower and shave

and then hop into bed like two non heavy metal likers that they are

you see i am a hooligan sitting on my chair ya know rocking and smoking away

i am liked by all except my family

so i ,are them two scared to sit with me

and it ****** well worked, and now i can

watch my megadeth concerts and watch my youtube and watch my late screening of prisoner

watch women stripping off to their bare essentials, yeah i am cool

i can go out with my mates and throw beer cans on school rooves

and i am getting itchy toes, but it doesn’t matter because

i am sending you yeah mate yeah kids to your little beds

i yell you run it’s the only way to be, you see you f..n wet me with the hose

when i was being an adult you flaming see

i am not going to harm any kid, that is not what i am doing

i don’t like old army men saying, they know better

so i put my megadeth t shirt on and i will f..n scare you

because music is way better to reform

so, you old timer, get off ya chair and move around, and i want to see your old man, no more

woosey woosey woosey woosey

i am a big punkman, to play cool for yeah mate yeah kids, oh yeah

IS THERE IN ESSENCE A TIME ...

Is there in essence a time that seeks to stride?
A need that whispers through the false acacias
In the cloister calm of this secluded cafe,
Laced with the clink of couples' glasses,
The breeze in silvered trees,
Nodding neighbours
And children playing on gravel paths.
Is there at work behind the manicured lawn,
The Private sign and undulating conversation -
A dynamic presence,
Pulsing like sunburning blood, speaking of
Desire on summer's first weekend?

Is there in essence a time that seeks to strive?
The summer storm brooding the sight of sun away,
The ochre messenger of light on ruddy rooves;
The shafts that gild the new green shoots
Buff the gold and copper spires.
Squalls that blow the day away
Trap shaking feathers in the warning wind,
Join the indigestive rumble of hill thunder as
Heads poke from the cafe windows:
Bronzed figures watching the blushing tiles and
Watching the light. Watching the light
Forever watching for the light.

somewhere in there
sounds like a kid
searching for another permuta-
tion of himself, some
semblance of a would-be he won’t hate.
that’s me, I’ll never run out of pain.
this genteel ache,
this conclusion, has nothing to do with choice.
there are some who’re born broken,
those unobtrusives with chapped lips, glancing up for
drones that might pick them up
then throw them to another Earth,
those who like getting into strangers’ cars, laying their head on the
dashboard that’s softer than their bed.
they on cold nights like to whisper to God: ‘we
don’t like this experiment.’ we are more
than warning signs of civilization in peril.
dead and gone.
don’t refuse exploitation; that’s how we still feel useful.
don’t the characters in some books make rooves out of leaves? too
dogged to prioritize shelter, though. too
drugged to maintain another thing
doomed to crack and crumble. just never enough time.
days flow by like silk into a sawmill. In the
dark we try to see if we still stand on strong ground, or surface tension.

such is
the rhythm. feet damp with cakemud. in
darkness we see stoplights turn red, sometimes yellow.

Minarets stand tall and sleek and
proud, announcing prayers at
intervals at odds with the
hourly bells of the basilica
Red rooves jostle for space
amid bullet-ridden history and
rejuvenated, freshly painted
homes and tourist-inducing
restaurants and market shops selling
trinkets: silk scarves, bronze pots
wooden flutes and ubiquitious
paintings of Stari Most
Crowds fill the lane leading
to the revered bridge, like pilgrims
A heady mix of peaceful
nations, short skirts
passing by headscarves
trading surreptitious glances
snapping photos of the bridge or
themselves and the bridge or
loved ones and the bridge
Watching with a rooftop drink
a bold and daring young man
small and youthful from a distance
encourages support and jumps
into the cold Neretva river
vigorously proving life goes on

I've seen sand flooding through city streets like a torrent of hot gravy drowning sprouts and beetroots, park benches and church rooves.

Or maybe more like the final sprinkle of salt over a roast dinner, baptising the parsnips and chicken breast in some sick meal time ritual.

It bursts through stained glass windows, suffocating the streets and preserving the locals. It rains down.

They used to mix it into a paste and mould it into city scapes - arches topped with fancy statues in humble salute through holes in the clouds.

Nowadays they melt it down and make office blocks out of the stuff, 500 metres in the air propped up like a million glossy middle fingers.

We collect samples of it from the moon, then analyse it and draw loads of numbers and pie charts.

We bake it into computer chips and pluck digits from the stars in the sky. We can predict eclipses and the dances of the planets with only slightly more accuracy than Ptolemy.

The power and strength of the sand is unstoppable. It'll come again when you least expect, and drag us with it into our own graves.

why do i build my houses out of leaves
each house for each Name

i stand them up, fingers coaxing them, willing them to stay
knowing full well that even the sunlight weighs too heavy

but i stack one on top of the other, a skyscraper of myself
hoping it'll be different this time as it sways, a sickening motion

a drop of rain causes the rooves to collapse as i struggle to keep so many of them up with my palms, using my spine load-bearing

they are stable, my fingers braced against the walls, my feet digging into the mud, my back arched and twisted, and i tell myself it's worth it

the large storm finally grays the skies and my houses are rustling at the pressure and i rearrange it all to cover them, godless prayers

lightning crackles and burns through the clouds to impact the ground
and i can't stop it

my houses begin to flutter apart like frightened birds as i try to grasp at them with damaged hands but i miss

a flash of bright white, the sun devouring the earth, and a splitting snap of wood and facade

a tree motions towards me and my pile of scattered leaves
but the mud is to my knees and my hands are clambering at fistfuls and my eyes are wide as it gets closer

And I find out nothing you said ever meant anything at all.

I clear my throat, because that
is the thing one has to do to not
sound Gay. The vocal cords will vibrate,
come awash with a thin liquid film to evince
the Tough Male Sound Format for five seconds, so
I can answer yes, and no, and say
how are you, how have you been, what’s your name to
anyone who does not know, to anyone
who must not find out. When I talk to myself,
It is heard, though: The high pitch, the twang, the flirtations.
It sounds honest when I’m alone, singing in the bathroom when I ****.
When people are with me, I keep it
like a password in my wallet.
So it knows two things:
Hide and unleash, and honestly? It is getting tired
of knowing it has two voices for each.
I sound like a ***. There’s a jump in my As,
a wider opening of the mouth when I do my As,
the teeth showing with As, the identifying lilt,
the **** **** **** of a laugh, the longer tail
of end-syllables, the Mms and Ohhs not enough grit:
All embedded sound files that can get me killed,
that can make me see that I haven’t really stepped out
of the closet; I just opened it, and I can close it each time I like,
each time I find necessary,
like the wallet where I keep my password, like my mouth when
I say keep the change in the borrowed voice of
an Alpha Dog Anymale.
I was inside of my home one time, though.
Clasped in my religion of boundaries.

And then it started raining,
water droplets pelting rooves and shingles and wooden planks,
clapping
on the boardwalk where plants sit.
Closed my eyes. Funny.
the rain sounded like a crackling fire.

The Moon hung low in the sky
like the tarnished reflection
of my soul on that night .
☆
A night spent rambling
down lonely streets of
derelict dream houses ,
with forbidding peaked
rooves ,
stretching high into the
gloomy dark like knives .
☆
Now and then ,
a sound made by something unknown ,
would drift on the dank air
or round some
threatening corner .
☆
Was there faint stirring
of grey curtain in a window ,
☆
A muffled cry behind
peeling paint of bolted door ,
☆
A soft voice sighing ,
straining against the wind to be heard ,
☆
But then , no-one was there .

i dreamt last night a sickness spread among us.
the skies seemed to want us dead. the world had ceased
its turning and all fences had fallen down. the rooves
had blown off of all of your favorite record stores.
your tires were flat and there was nothing you could do
about it. see? i can play god, too. my heart stopped beating
at 2:16am and they put me back together in under two minutes
and thirteen seconds. they didn’t understand that i liked it better
the way things were before. where’s tommy? where’s tommy?
where’s tommy? it’s not a big deal, i guess, but i can’t pronounce
mommy. just could you make sure she’s here next time, please?

I dream houses.
I dream small rooms
behind small doors
in which small wardrobes
lead nowhere but trappings
of our mangled time -  
of yours and mine.

I dream chimney fires,
tongues between walls
and curtains hung like tar.
We were never long
in the vapors, strangers yes,
but a lope of gray shoulder
and a turning was you, I am sure,
everturning and blue.

I find you in the floorboards,
scuttled in dust and debt,
heaped for a match,
for a flicker,
but nothing is scorched in this.
Rather what crushes here,
the burdens of rooves on cinder,
the cracking of small rooms,
small scores
never carved from a plan,
compress what should be at rest.

I cry “Wake”, each morning,
I cry “wake” to find you,
tragic in the sheets,
bound before the fan ,
mumbling something to someone,
flexing your hand. Yes, I see you,
tangled, but dreaming I think,
twitched of some else tomorrow,
stitched to your own land pink.

What we need
Is a little sun
To make us smile
To warm our hearts

A little snow
On the tree tops
And rooves
To set the scene

Holly trees
Full of red berries
And Christmas trees
With pretty lights

The Christmas spirit
On Christmas night
Lovely pressys under the tree
Christmas songs for you and me

i dream warm
                 dry
      and wing-ed
about a modern city ;
               a monster
                 sprung to being
                   in one urban print
       (the absence of any organic revision
                                                is occult)

a dominating mind
a commandeering mouth
many adept labourers
in an afternoon of rhythmic effort
erected this :
a raising
an orchestrated coral

                                        - formation

no one hives here
     this metropolis waits....
     empty
it is a bait of 'utopia'
for the next population spate
                     to occupy and ode upon its grandeur
                       in a single arrival of mass gratitude

                                       - composition

here i am
vagrant for company
vacant
a playground
but an echo and a hurt

i step beyond
into a solitary joy

                                        - duction

the preening eye
      the dreamers keep
this city
sake

an endless day of a veiled away sun
projecting a steeped climate
a distil of the figment

                                        - set

i flit my core
    leadless
    over public art
up drainage flumes
balconies
  over rooves
high leaps that do not deplete me
every move energizes

                                        - action

i am naked
each contact is a ****** nudge
i am welling and mammary
blooded
and guided by unassigned swollen parts

i fling my beast higher and further
           until i reach a bell tower
i grip the lightning conductor
          and with the other mitt
                  i directly grab the bells tonsil

tapping the energy of the scape
and my own reservoir
with the command of a primed surge ;
i toll out madly for a mate
bludgeoning a vibration
to sate my urgency
a call placed

                                        - resonate

we come from dust and star and sky,
admire the place from which we came;
on hills and rooves and grass we lie
to taste the thing we have became.

-- how selfish and fickle we are,
how cruel and kind and strange;
like suns that burn too fast, us stars
so bright, and then, so plain.

eons pass and still we lie,
transfixed by that beloved sky,
and people live, love, quickly die
in a sweet but single breath of time.

After a very hot day
lightening started flashing
Thunder started crashing
The rain came hammering down
The air started to cool
The plants and trees
Are all at ease
The rain is bouncing of the rooves
running down the little grooves
The lightening lights up the room
As the thunder crashes with a great big boom
And the thunder shouts as the clouds just
Crash into each other as the wind now gusts
Thrusting the trees
And washing the leaves
But oh what a lovely storm!

I poked around in the dark for dark spots, toe-holds & lip-latches, 4
*fat-lipo-******-out patches, unlit red safety matches, straw thatched
*rooves with incongruent thatches & snatched-meaty, gravy snatches

White shiny teeth
Bright sparkly green eyes
Black velvet coat
Curled up claws
Pointy black ears
He has no fears

Sneaks out at night
Seeking his prey
Crosses the rooves
Both night and day
Hides around corners
Ready to pounce

His long white whiskers
Make him look a samurai
So we called him Sam
The cat on the cam!