Dog head

 Dog head dog head scream
Grab, howl OHHH bite bite grim wound
Rip bark rip bleeding
Howl drop to knees arm soaked

Bitemarks

A clock and a mouth

 It came bearing down
The feeling of dread
The inescapable feeling 
That there was no exit

I turned and hugged the shade
No point it comes inevitably
Rolling over the street
A car being pushed along

The Sound of gravel crushing under tyre
I'd like to be passed by unrecognized
But I feel observed
I attempt to cast a decoy

but I have no time or privacy
So it sees what I am and wants it
Pretending it has a destination
There's no destination just a clock

And a mouth

Troublemaker's grin

The mother let the daughter run to the front of the room.
She stuck her hands through the vacant desk to the mouse and computer.
Pulling cords and making sound effects as she did so.
Giggling turning and beaming a troublemakers grin.
The mother's exhausted face appealing to the girl, until the mother had to get out of the seat and pull her away from the desk. The girl shrieked unfazed by the mother's reprimand. She would go onto pull and push things around in the public office as the mother unsuccessfully attempted to solve her pending documentational crisis.
But appearances matter. It seems all you need today to own the world is a stamp and a signature.

In the queue

 The tax office was dark.
There were two couples in the line seated and anxious.
I sat down after them. I read their anxieties. Their rehearsed outrage or contempt.
The floor was marked by a million shoe prints.
We are just the next scratches...

Just the next stamps and signatures.
The tested patience. The next raised brows.
I had locked my bike onto the handrail. I left it as I went to the collections office to pay two months owing.
A couple was aguing infront of the whole room. Their abrasive loud voices full of thick indignation.
The years had taken their toll on the walls and ceilings.
I wondered how so many angry voices had radiated through the space.

And yet it was beautiful, not ugly, not marred. Even the imperfections filled me with joy.
Because for the first time in my life I wasn't in a rush.

Thursday journ

 On that journey
Along the way abundance
Modesty
On that path

Climbing up
Bringing good things in
There is a flavor
A direction

Dig into the morning
smooth over the blue
on the journey
of today

Nowhere to hide from life

 There is nowhere to hide from life
It must hard under your skin
Its just like spring break on drugs
I see an empty jug

Once full of compassion

Turn your eyes from the suffering
Inward we go severing connection
The screen is bugs
Disease is trust

A body riddled with yearning

A mind full of games
Turns hinder dark
I return fury of the arc
Smoulder in destruction

There is no such thing as telepathy 

Overthinking the chinese cookie
Sweetened readings of astrology
The screen is bugged
Disease and rust

Pretend to be okay

 Things don't have to be okay.
The mind can crack.
The rope can fray.

Accept there'll be bad days.
people have a knack.
for getting in the way.

Leave the feeling of betrayal.
Time ticks clack clack.
every second a certain fail.

I hear men brag then go stale.
Go tight then predictably slack.
These women who wail.

Things don't have to be okay.
Share a piece of this forbidden track.
Nothing listens as you pray.