I cling to my faint rattling breath
It changes as the seasons
Yet still gives me life's air.
A quiet mass that sustains me

Many things pass my eyes
I am not seeing so well
Irritated by more sights
This is just an age thing

My legs seem to be someone’s
I wonder whose, as they move
I follow them now, no driving
Just lean forward, and there you go

I think my heart has been given away
It beats, no, throbs in more places
It creases my brow, etching lines
It keeps me awake with its noise.

I
I saw there was a twig on the horizon
by raising my gaze up and down

Yet knew the blaspheme arrived on
When one runs from the hills and the town.

To that sacred sulking perpetual sea
green in its puke of the world

II
Here we have laid it, beneath our clean feet
To bathe, cool, and immerse

That the currawong sings in a blackened tree
may be nothing short of miracle

To you or me, whose eyes in colour, see
where the poor fool should fly to

love is in the air
burning rubble
make my Martini strong like on the double
pierced right through the skin
perched up high as in the raven
penetrate as words adore in motion
penetrate as words adore;
music in the twilight of the air
there is was...

through lies of its deepest temptation
bold as to my dear brother
the over weight lover undercover
Bernie Sanders and the flag
Vito from Sapranos

Naught left of turkey except bone,
grandchildren running all around,
Tree is empty all alone,
house filled with a happy sound.

Adults scattered all about
some watching a football game;
with each score some of them will shout
hollering out the mascot's name.

Others remain at the table
catching up on family news
(snacking on food if they're able.)
None share political views.

Now that I am getting older
My tastes in food and sex
Are getting so much bolder
Why, I'll even try Tex-Mex.

I loved to sit on a hard dicky
And give a good legover
But I now prefer a choccy bikky
Or a Strawberry Pavlova.

Getting old is not much fun
So I may as well keep on eating;
'Cos no one wants to poke my bun
And sexual pleasure's fleeting.

All kingdoms
Needs their freedom
And to be ruled by the people of wisdom.

O, say can't you smell in the morning's delight
What failed to get flushed, thus the toilet needs cleaning?
Huge turds and bright piss, such a horrible sight,
Out of bodies fast pumped with odours demeaning?

Sewage workers so brave, the shit wagon driving
Will speed through the night to cleanse toilets for you;
How grateful we are for their generous striving
To cleanse the home of the free from the stench of stale poo.
.

the darkness dims the day
till its shadows fail to stay
it helplessly compel
night's black and sullen spell

in the thick of midnight's fold
and with uneasiness behold
the dread of the then reality
came to cloud the placidity

as the actualization upon
the people of colour dourly dawn
their fate unequivocally in the lily-white hand
whom henceforth them shall represent

The winds of murder
The waves of death
High--tide flows and blows evil.