the man

the man from detox
had a wrist slim but taut
with bulging veins ripe
and pulsating with the tanned
authority of failed age.
he crumpled newspapers
like old ambitions and after
our discussions he’d lay
his head on bundles of them.
i thought walking home
about his unwashed hair bathing
in the sordid paper waters of
contemporary news and the
ageless wood of a park bench.
the pigeons must have chirped
all night, swooping around his dreams

100805

ELEPHANTs AND ACROBRATs are swimming in a paper cup I tossed from vomiting the memory of my favorite sultry seductive slut

Days are darker than the Knights that shield me from the morning light I’d disappear from here
If I believed that I could do it right

Thunder storms are beautiful when lightning bolts appear, it soothes my chaotic mind and time seems to finally be at peace with me

Vh1 classsic flashes me back to the eighties with Tears For Fears

fears from fears of what the rash on my leg might be related to and the twilight ponderance of why i’m still awake

the midnight oil was burnt out a couple of hours ago

so what fuels this alertness

no substances have been comsumed tomorrow isn’t a day of gloom so why does sleep allude me

i have nothing on my mind but the death of the radiostar and film footage not yet non fiction.

Well atleast the day time will be amusing

my zombie attire will do the day fine……………

SITTIN IN A FIRE OF SHAME

DYING TO GO OUT IN THE RAIN

IN HOPES THAT IT MIGHT WAS OF THE TAINT

THAT’S STUCK TO MY FLESH LIKE DRY PAINT

ALL DAY LONG I GO

ANSWERS I DON’T KNOW

FIND ANOTHER SHOW

TO RID MYSELF OF WOE

SITTING IN A FIRE OF SHAME WISHING I WAS OUT IN THE RAIN.

CALL MY NEW GIRL TO LIGHTEN MY MOOD

CAUGHT HER CHEATING WITH SOME OTHER DUDE

I’M LOST AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO

I GUESS I’LL GO AND HAVE ME A BREW

SITTING IN THE RAIN

FIGHTING WITH THE PAIN

THAT’S PINGING IN MY BRAIN

 WAS ASKED  HOW I WAS DOING ..

Okay then! I’ll just burn the house down the next time you wanna scream and shout about me being a lout but not wanting to be without you.
I have no doubt the moment I move out your stubbornness will allow you to commence being without me in more than just a physical way, and this I can’t allow.
I will deny you the chance to decide to throw away what may be the only thing that will save my life.

when post-divorce you have bathed

and have done it passing well

(on this I need not further dwell),

then placed right round your neck

a c’mem’ratory wreath,

and have tightly flossed and brushed your teeth

and massaged firm gums beneath

your foul breath fully to dispel,

and now you smell, well,

of french cologne …

or p’raps of piney aftershave

(if I may chance to rave!),

you, by your acts,

have come not just a freed ex …

The mind is its own place,

and in itself

Can make a Heav’n of Hell,

a Hell of Heav’n—

And provides but fertile soil

for the local Rever’n’

His/her weeds to plant

sev’n times sev’nty-sev’n.

They’ve Only Nayed

Thank You, Lord Byron

1788-1824

(his words in italics)

A man must save his time

to every trade

To earn his keep plus pay

his dues, I’m afraid.

Save censure — critics

all are ready made.

Early on they make

the promised grade,

Withhold their accolade,

and condemn those

they feel have strayed.