Southerly of new year's day

 Reach into your pocket for the next joint
You and your friend still dazed from new year's eve
walking awkwardly but happily up the beack
The sand moist dark brown goes down 10 inches

Every walking step quite a struggle
And on each other's shoulder
Singing some dinky chorus
Half drunk teenage dawn

Smile up at the cold front
Coming in to knock you down
With pelting rain
Optimistic grin

You come upon your relatives
Further up the beach
Covering themselves in blankets
Recovering from the revelry

But you are not done
You ask them in charisma
To rise and spark a mood
to sing and be jolly

But the beach is getting it's first large dollops of rain
And the hungover party is migrating like lazy cows to their vehicles
Now you work your charm for a ride but none is given
For whatever was previously transgressed still stung

And so you and the other sinker hitchiked
As the cold front pushed the southerly into you
Big droplets of rain
Two idiots still singing a chorus

The bag I crumbled dirt over

 Boston bag
I crumbled dirt on your bag
Dust over the fiber
reputation

Your fist came for my face
Struck it but didn't seem to hurt
You were something intimidating back then
But what are you know?

If I were to find you today

Would you stand up to me

If I were to deal blows to your ego

Would you recover well

Or would my ideas
Like your strange superstitions
Do their work over time
Seeping doubts and supernatural affliction

Arriving to depart

 Hobos like us
stained skin that showers couldn't clean off
arriving at the city next to the sea
exhausted and jailed in our traumas

Try our begging on the street
On the grass next to the sidewalk
but noone here had money
they were barely a rung above

And we sorely sought a handout
For a drink to massage the passage of time
Like our eyes and daunted minds
The skies grew ever overcast

Devoid of spark or hope
There was a special trailor 
Where the most weary of us would be hauled off
So that we didn't loiter the downtown that night

Tweeker's dîner mondain

 They spent hours cooking the pasta
And putting it on expensive dishes 
Then on shelves
Neighbourhood parents took plates down and ate

And every dish had a special defect
The tomato paste was too bitter
The creams were oversalted
As a rule the dining room was dim

Fussy parents tried to balance the plates in their hands
And see just what if any was the merit of the food

The tweeker's put their own music on
Music they had recorded with money they had stolen
Videoclips of popular tourist locations

One could ask how the hell did they put it all together
It was part of their one month clean declaration
The slow return to sincerity
Which was still racked with grandeur and euphoria

A temporary truth for some of them, most of them
And the next day one them would return to the meth and crack
The next day all the parents would suffer food poisoning

Molha-bobo

 Pittering and pattering
Whispering wrapping in
Condensed heavy

The slow air
Temperature loses patience
visibility no longer

The hard smooth spitter
Fat ears accelerate
Into the minds and heads 

Hairy canyons
Myriad ridges
Persistant precipitation

Through openings
Closings of dense fingers and hands
Overflowing lowlands bursting creeks

Digestion and destiny

 Tonnes of food 
chicken beef and pasta
A buffet to inflate every sense
Every physical edge

Eating is a burden
trays and trays for my human mouth
it all sits there in my gut
Digesting

How am I any different from
any of that food
Trailing down behind some predictable crowd
Into some popular brand or authority

Afraid of our own freedom
Killing given passion
Settling for leftovers
and chowing down to the audience sign's shine

Choking on aspirations
But swallowing double helpings of sloth
and creamy complacency
digesting unfulfilled destiny

With wings we crawl

 Helping hand
from a world mundane
Passion fires up
Spiced up

It's all it wants to do
move and be
Sustain itself
Burn the tongue

Singe the throat
Oxygen rules the lung
Food the stomach
A universe of potential deflates

Under predictable 
heavy routine
we crawl
With wings on our back