two men enter
both will drink
i see him in the window
blurred
the man who writes at night

has it already
been a year?
has it even been
an hour?

from the lists of names ignored and forgotten
flashless, the fool finally finds a field
and blends among the graying stalks
that slowly in silence erase
their once proud names

The sound of rushing water is like music to my ear
the surging water falls from hilltops into the raging sea;
a river flows in the imagination of my mind's eye.

paddock the pillage of sailing flowers
dreaming that they dropped asleep
lapel in shrewd courtesy
as a coat of cold pillory
punishment in a shack tenement
where floors dull wasted petals
cheap metals have they become
colour dried with frail polish
they are let to rot away

Why do they swarm trees when it's hot,
leave their winter nest in spring?
enter white boxes, then caught.

pink cherry blossoms, their world,
black and yellow, winged;
why do they swarm trees when it's hot.

tasty in the chef's pot,
bees loose honey comb, cut;
enter white boxes, then caught.

bees sipped nectar wait for signal, new spot,
beekeeper gets a call, bees, caught;
why do they swarm trees when it's hot.

cherry bleeds
like wind through the blinds
these moon escapes
wrapped up your calves
and filling black certain
midnight
between
the gap of morning
and yesterday

sugary filling
glitter
dancing at
the dimple
of a smile
hesitant
bold
afraid

and the slow
crawl
filled with
light

over the smooth
summit
of a dream
and waiting
on the precipice

I want to play a game of contact
allowing fingers to connect pores
with perspiration of anxiety

Inhale me ecstasy.

Electric chair twitches from thighs
crucify your scent onto the bed
let no sheet forget the ritual
that is upon us

exhale me excitement.

Forget names for this episodes
as I commercially broadcast
a plethora of teases free of cost
one lip bite, two fierce glances
a multitude of DNA under the nails

inhale me passion.

Time is relative
I lost count of your heart beats
now light years away

I see you dancing
around the radio
holding hands with the
circle of sanity
the flowers in your hair
unnoticed
against your catwalk beauty

as the doctor places you
back on the stage
so the other manics
can dream
of their own
medicinal puppet strings
carving a smile on faces
that for a moment
don't have to look
like
demons

I will visit soon
of this I promise

My thoughts