It would end with me
And I would be fine with it
For up ahead burns something
Not new,
But alive.
And I wait for this fire to burn brighter,
And I hear people talking of the past,
Yet they don’t understand,
They speak of keeping heritage alive
I refuse to live in song and dance.
I prefer to speak in poetry,
The way old Paradise did on that open road.
I prefer to stare the world in the face,
And not say a word.
I crave the silently loud noise of it all.
So yes,
It can end with me

You said
Don't you dare
I composed
I dare

well you and I
are too ferocious a pair

you say don't
I say do,

you must be more positive
like me too

never give in to the machinations of human beings,
fight for your right …

yet when you are wrong,
just admit it

no one knows the real art of living,
only reduce stress
in whatever way you can
also make compassion
your norm

for there is nothing beyond love,
in the life's sweet and short sojourn

The rain-
It cleanses all manner
of things
scouring the route
to redemption and
sorrow

Like tears-
they never fell
when I stood over
your still sullen shape

But now they do

Like torrents
trembling terrible
torments
washing the life
we had clean away

All stains are gone
You are erased
from our life
like lines of
laundered linen

Talk to myself, not much to say.
Radio on, headphones too,
as morning wraps the walls
in candy stripes of light on light.

Weather forecast, where and when.
‘Background briefing’,
news about news,
stitched like a ‘fiver’ to my hat.

Two conversations layer cake.
Breath, a true measure,
says goodbye to that.
‘Tipping the lid’, developing mannerisms...

Specious?... More scandals;
make a gesture, feel the veins,
tense tendons,
like Mime at the anvil, start to work.

needle hanging by its thread
the light of a moon
upon a bed

cups with worry buttons
in its ocean of dust
the bright cascade
of snow
and the broken trusts

sickle smile
cut the mile
a bootheels grind
sharpens an eye

worry hurry come
the eve
where the ghosts
come to sit

and never leave

The engine of his motorbike drones on in sympathy
Killer’s mind is numb, there’s nothing here to see
Hunger strikes his stomach, like a sharpened knife
There has to be some bad-guys here; brighten Killer’s life

Now on the dark horizon, there is a distant light
It flickers, flares and beckons, calling through the night
A campfire in the desert, reflecting chrome and leather
Biker-men and broads, enjoying party weather

Come away, come away
As I lazily lay
It was the last day in the month of May,
When it said come away, come away

Still I sit, never flit, out of wit
In my chair in the middle of nowhere
To go anywhere, I surely do care
But still I sit there, in the middle of nowhere

Remembering times seem often harder to recollect

Similar to blank thoughts after a bounced check

Being proven wrong when the whole time

Your thoughts were correct just not on point with the period

The end of my sentences get ran over Most times I forget the period

I'm serious as a fatal heart condition finishing Thoughts

Can drive someone sane down an interstate of delerium Forgot the exit

Forgot my limit at birth cause since then I've never had one Releasing fact is fun

Fear is fearful, all around in dark of night,
when all is silent, velvet black, no sight,
the stars shine extra bright, while spiders
creep about the wood, moose and mice
might meet, we step on soft things, hard,
not knowing what, the perfume rises
takes the scene; the slightest movement
stirs our thoughts, we listen now intently

I dreamed
a herd of elephants
walked through the house
into my garden
stopped and turned around
like a flock of blackbirds
changing direction,
they left the irony of ivory
in their path, they mingled
with the tusks of idols and
idolatry, they were auspicious
where they stood.