For the time lost

 Taxi waiting downstairs.
The women were late.
One said hurry.
The other "let him wait".
And slowly in their own time.
Dawdled even after warning sign.
Burning through the minutes.
The driver becoming impatient.
And off he drove in angry heat.
The two women searched for him on the street.
Then gave up and walked back upstairs.
The taxi driver only hit the steering wheel once.
He accelerated as if on the run.
Cursed in three languages rage wash grin.
And swerved on purpose to hit a pigeon.
Just to hear it squash under tyre.

Smash and smoulder.
The taxi crashed bonnet folding.
Several blocks down from the women's apartment
A sliding door opened on teh escarpment.
For teh women heard it the bash and went out to see.
But it was out of sight, but not out of curiosity.
They leaned on the railing to be able to get a better look.
The screws were loose and the metal slipped off it's hooks.
Both women fell five stories onto pavement below.
Their dying breaths heavy laboured and slow.
Yet they could see the smoking mess of the taxi in distance
And said to one another "Look karma really exists"
Then they bled out on the sidewalk.

The mystic the thinker the seer

 When Alexander came with all of his minions and armies.
I simply went out to meet him.
Jerusalem would be burnt to the ground.
So I cast the dream way and showed him.
This land was not to be conquered.

But take your fire and arrows and blades.
And smash Persia.
And apart from the disease of ambition.
I'll let you sleep in peace.

Dirty grains of sand

 Within the lounge

A sandbank in place of a sofa
The flicker of the t.v the only light
A shovel to mound the sand

To find comfort
In the thick of selfishness
To find oneself
Those tiny grains scratching skin

Weeks and months droop
The sand is filthy
The t.v flickers
Laughter overpowering the chest

The sound of it absorbed into the sand
The volume the t.v turned down
To focus on each burst of laughter
Legs and stomach submerged in the dirty sand

It seems we sink into the ghastliest of our habits
The t.v vibrates light giving long speeches in flashes
But eyes cannot see for the body is below sand
Starving for air

kiss sun farewell

 Varanda
See the last of the day
As if it were the very last of light
That existance would be swallowed

Never to be given up
Never to be renewed again
That morning would never swing again

That knives would find places at belts
The world betrayed
A blade away

A soft sky
Dressed in thicker cloud
The last beams paint 
the nature of a farewell sun

In light I was born and subjugated
In darkness I rise
The eyes of my soul restless up there
screaming at the evening birds retirement

Warning them
It would be the last time
Blick blink
Varanda

That search for joy

 Searching for joy
A kind less known
In little bundles
Very hidden

A part of me at the surface
ready to dive in
What do I treasure?
Following the boat across the water

The sun across the sky
Sky looks upon me
Catches me looking for the light
In daylight it seems more illusive still

Following the sense of goodness
It took me an eternity to learn
Searching for illusive joy
Sense of wonder

Disagreeing with the bay

 when i woke up
I was clinging to the side of the mountain
My head turned and looked out to sea
neither wind nor sun would speak to me

The rough stone of the coastline
is my conversation with the sea
Argument is tide
Rage and tempest

No harbor friendly to keel
No sandy flat beach welcomes
Just dark craggy edges
The long sharp saw

Softening the sea
Again and again

Never be the wiser

 Her side of town, fancy feelings and things like her. And in her mind, things were suave.

That rope between her mind and her heart sometimes tying romance. In my head, I'd connected that rope. The one I'd climb down, got cut.

Now I'm swinging between the two ends, sometimes upside down, somewhere she can't even see, sometimes getting her choked up.

The deeper secret is the infatuation rolling around, tied inside a little chest in me, begging to get out and tie those two pieces of rope together.

Picture threads as mouths, lips to lips, tongue to tongue, swinging from breathless lungs. A fire that never can be quelled, burning the south side of her heart, smoking her out behind her eyes, keeping that steam engine on its tracks.

Long hours disconnected— I need jump-start cables. It all becomes another unrealistic fantasy. A drop of it infects my thoughts, seeking your reality through fantasy. I'll pretend it didn't come from you, like the rest of my delusions.

Lips to bouncing thighs, you ruse. I'll read you head to tippy toe; you read my behaviour so the yearn grows.

The dreams you sew so neatly never reach me. Your confession never realized.

Mine I've couriered from my heart to you through my eyes.

But if you ever really felt anything, I'd never be the wiser.