reaching for the necklace 
the only connection the girl had to her mother
thrown into the world

A diploma in applied deception

 I had little empathy for the boy uncouth ungroomed

who was actually ostracized from the classroom

digging away at my conscience was the young me

no different to the clown clumsy not free

obsessed with getting attention
more distracted than a psychotic cat
but simple and wanting love
lonely and tristful brat

The group personality has already passed judgement

to the pariah of the group frowning

teaching is like climbing a mountain

and finding just the right view to point out the truth

Noone was interested in his little handful of truth
too much lint and sparechange pocket of the brute
too much residue from painful temper tantrums
noone to comfort him through thick and thin

Every boy and girl is thrown into their prospective schools 

with their disorders acceptable or unacceptable by rules

clashing with views and sharp idiosynchracies

so out of proportion and explosive such disparities

Young quickly learn to compare themselves hopefully astute
Not necessarily looking at those inner hidden attributes
But betting everything on the most popular feats of stupidity
teachers and faculty satisfy themselves in unison to the cacophony

Albeit they pretend to hold back their bark

But feed it with sarcasm and smirks and banal remarks

acting as a wall not to stop the useless effort of many

but to guide into fruitless failure and a sense of futility

A brass medal that everyone wins to not feel obsolete
A participation trophy to rub the salt into freshly cut meat
To hide the humiliation so it festers instead of heals
Among the peers all know the truth, the score and the hidden appeal

A programming glitch

 passivity renders the helpless introvert
vulnerable

a fish beached

The maniac grin of the charismatic extrovert
honourable

The garish besseches

The mixture of people using confused urges
 unfavorably

a freak wish

The masochist and psychopath join so suavely

An itch reached

The lack of meaning for humanity troubling

A stitch of impeachment

against the equilibrium once calm now bubbling

They teach the glitch

In our psyche as if it we need instructions to struggling

The second messiah

Genius child built the whole ship
readying it for an inevitable day
Much like a restless noah
In a time when we were completely brainwashed
machine like

the edges of every family came together
bringing the dirt and filth of drama from trauma
that we can feast on before the food arrives a storm
the insatisfactions of the past simply lumped onto the elders
Old family members assume the blame

like gravy soaked puree

That Genus child who engineered an escape
from a time when optimism had died
people hugged their pod cushions
ignoring the worrying consequences 
Responsibility was outlawed

like that acidic brocolli isolated on the edge of the plate
refusing it with fervor

That genius child brought us all together
ignorant and stubborn we came together
selfishly praying for our own supply of sugar and fat
That genius child replenished our faith
Intelligence and creativity

and we embarked drinking and eating and finally living 
semblances of a once great humanity

Savagely eastward

 I'm born I was born i live
I thrive I jump I am it I taunt
I bolt I grow and grow and want
I see i divide I judge I flaunt

I fall from the forest like fruit at first unsteady
I stand again awake aware and ready
I run I chase I hunt I am alive I quest
I strike I kill I eat I digest

Firey horizons scare our kin and wives
pushing us out of our old lives
toward the sleepy villages
unknown war wages 

I am the invader pest
I the ruthless colonist
death makes my nest
pushing out the old residents

to raise my brood
defeat the locals
steal their farms and food

the ol factory

 The disorderly bench
tools and rubbish haphazardly left
Order hinders creativity
everything needs its place

The smell of burnt wood

cut marks soot filled
saw dust and metal dust 
in small galaxies across the floor
cardboard edges almost forming a carpet

The smell of rotting vegetation

10am sun pouring in 
through the half opened 
corrugated door
stains in the concrete floor

The bathroom door ajar

Work is a reality a whiff of progress
Tasks on a list
energy in the gut
all waiting to be distributed

The light curtains

 four pm and the sun was as low as the window
shining in as if uninvited glaring throughout
whether they spoke of the past or the future
it wasn't extended

silence won the afternoon
coming over the two men heavily
forcing them into their silly interpretations
of what the other had said

The kitchen a narrow short corridor
wallpaper from the sixties
musky smell of neglected herbs
a cigarette lights up and blustery cough

a quick opinionated attempt at current politics
a retort from son
A sigh and a yawn
that is the amount of those exchanges

The concerns of the old
repetetive conversions
A millenia of pointless chats
at four pm nonstop

of beard scratching
head nodding head shaking
attempts at good bye
circulating through beliefs

landing on a few agreements
insisting on uneasy disagreements
a state of eternal dialogue then silence
They sit up there luke warm coffee

caramels and cigarettes
machine like responses
the inside falls out in different moods
different tones and urgency

You have become what you thought within
to what you are without
a layer of sweat in the 4pm sun
tired to ask how work is going

work finished a millenia ago
walking stick holding him up
almost a stroll down Matenga street
His skin as red as leather

Office coffee

 lateness and anxiety
How they blend 
overwhlemed and overworked
hopeful brow

Lateness nothing more than sickened anticipation
table is full of anxiety
car door opens
look down at the time

boss eyes use windows
as spectacles
heart rate spikes
junk food crumbs falls from frown

Enter company forehead burns
lateness and anxiety blend
all impulsive organs squirt
toxic drops of desperation

quicker faster
coffee spilt
a fever of jitters
How it all blends

Mouthful equal to a smile

 there was something familylike about leaving the feast
all of these middle chunk folk prepared the bland foods

steaming and boiling it all until it would be edible

a mouthful is equal to smile

The cave was protection
it stretches forward into the present
in the form a of a sewer drain

Not a noble blessed cave
like the one we came out of

Leaving the cave
to live off the mountain
metaphor a mouthful
equal to a smile

and infants ignorance
oh hell it's secret wisdom
siphoned off through a new conditioning

The arc like hills lining the long voyage roads
provided the picnic spot for a family to ponder
the life of the rose before it faded

The food of life a fruit of planning
the privilege of planning
the belief of abundance

the culling of expectation
bland boiled food of life

sustenance in a smile

a purpose sharpened and elegant
more likened to the sport of work
the stainglass illusion necessity

leaving the cave
returning from approved vacation

fathers and mothers best intentions
were the seasonings
that never entered the pot

some prioritized writing them on the chalkboard
outside of the eatery womb

so that one would grin and grow their appetite

sustenance in a smile
entering and searching the flavor with tongue and curiosity
the cooks mistook the silence for satisafaction

the few lucky ones who abhor the spice
gleamed so
a mouthful equal to a smile

Triangles that move us

 life as a triangle
I drew it across the air
many would call me crazy
enteraining the unseen

many shapes come to mind
imagine a triangle
three points like a trinity
metaphors and meanings

semi forthcoming
if life was just a church
settling into a pew
like a real square

a box in heaven
more of the same by the wise
some of that new flavor
as if our mouths were replaced

with fresh lips and 
new tongues
triangular teeth

a gateway
the rectangular mouth

heaven being digested by the holy trinity
for an even part of forever

a narrow chin 
a wide forehead

In the womb of an angel
warm and hungry
desperate to be born
On an earth that could roll
much like a round wheel

Holy grail on the trail

 I walked out of the mustard stained day
heroically as if I had lived it before

down through short pray leaf shrubs
under the tall eternal night of a valley thick forest canopy

leaf mold and rusty fences that would divide it inside
now just relicky trash

up the other side of the hill to catch a glance at the city
through a clearing I looked down over the land

distant lakes lit up by the sun almost blinding
and scattered little villages

It never was a city

I walked away from the race track ramp
that failed gurus had established as a rite of passage

empty places pull in ghosts
and ghosts are sucked into empty places

a few moments of nostalgia replayed eternally
a few moments of trauma likewise

Those keen slabs of concrete
ghost blood grey

I above the land no road or path ahead
It shocks a lifeless human into vitality
to realize that truly being lost

is the only form of real honesty

Birth death and instagram

 squeeze through into new rules
beg for your existance
sing for your soup
crawl until you can walk

I admire your style of obedience
you are really fitting in respectfully
maybe we can squeeze you into a trophy
scribble your name on a certificate

so run here's spot for the approved drafting  
walk into the group lock choreography
this flavor of compliance arouses
the wolf out there

I can read your face
it's a sports car
in a traffic jam zero awareness
these guidelines prompt your admirable deference

Duty duty
quells the sense of self
scripts a path
skips the unknown

what a rehearsal
beautiful routines
photo albums
adjust yourself accordingly

the light you seek
is the just glare of your peers
pizza like opinions
are to be distributed and shared

I can really relate
to your instagram elegy

Light as a bird

 little bird

weighing down the branch of love

wings a ready ever easy

flight inevitable

in midair observing below

eye follows beak eyes are peeled

toward something to peck

into the shade concealed

where larger animals 

cannot identify

weighing down another branch

tweeting in the undergrowth

plain as day from the throat

life inside you

little bird

weighing very little

an insect crawl meal

build a nest breed and feel

fly away

sacred ethereal streams 

following behind

faith has wings say it

to carry the weight

trouble's brow just lift

Dojo kids in chaos

 It was food thrown to the ground. A busy crazy kitchen
Dozens of children, lower parts of the city flooded
yet all ignore and invent euphoria

a set of competitions. Out on the long field
along the white house, short cut grass
chaos chaos

chaotically dressed. The children readied themselves to attack each other
lonely city big concrete slabs in the distance
this short sunstained green grass we hold
now the fighting will ensue

No dojo just a small lawn
four groups of insane children lunging at each other
no rules or order. Just bacon and bread on the floor
Pines cowardly swing away from it all

Life meaning in two fingers

 2 missing fingers just bones now
holding them up with her good hand
the university had it's own hospital unit
the celebration was an incredible band
mascots and bombastic music

completely unfitting a desperate person
struggling with a strange hand injury
worried that it would all worsen
fear to the point of fury

coming out of the gym
sense of lack at the end of a limb
or explosive challenges
boney fingers
a woman imbalanced

sad old girl trapped in drama 2 missing fingers
bones now abrupt howls and calls
 coming out of the mall
connected to the university
The cheap doctor could be found
pigging out in the food court greasy and round

He gave a discount for repairing the fingers
but the stumps albeit continued to linger
far off apartment buildings knock on doors
we thought they were on the second floor
yet fingers abandoned we never saw more

desperation at fingers lost carelessly
the noise and blurr so starkly cut from awareness see
empty apartments the remnants on cruise ships
deafening music in ballrooms of decorative trimmings
As we climb these tall apartment buildings

in the fruitless quest for these two boney fingers
that this old woman seemed to have lost
if dead and bone and doctor's grimace
we shall never retrieve these digits
A mission for the incurable injury

Those traffic light foodtrucks

 Embarking across the city
traffic lights are people in fact
changing their expressions
to invite or avoid

Infront is a dozen converted train carriages
now food trucks with hopeful enthusiastic cooks
looking out over the small crowds 
so one might catch a glimpse of the smile

to be hooked in
to some fried carb or protein
sauce dressed
an exchange that might be a highlight

afternoon doesn't obey
people change their minds
and cannabalism is frowned upon
So one foot infront of the other

seeking the heat of the city
the radiating concrete
no street trees
shopfronts zero appeal

Nothing to trick the eye
just the practical smell of plastic and steel
just my foot prints
and brain's digestion

afternoon people greet hurriedly
despite repeating the circuit for centuries
checking the box fast to get to the next traffic light
slowing down stopping and continuing

novelty trance
a sense of throroughfare
speed the conman of achievement
anxious people running on foodtruck grease

Gathering years and moisture

 I saw over the other side of the world
we'd negotate tickets to once again see each other
amusement parks in tropical places
rust like chicken wire holding us graceless

Grand rivers thick blue grey cloud touching
glistening pasture theres your face
humidity has this monopoly
noone broaches the subject

moss in the shadows
concealing the old building colors real desires
old comforting falsehoods overgrown
the mythical return of loving years

sweet naiivety across our curious foreheads and cheeks
guiding us into delusions we once had of growing up
and now we are here and it's almost raining
this riverside port with so many warehouses

each one empty and celebrated as if full
traffic anxious and abrupt speeding as gates lift
and portmen wave them through
from one boat to land expecting drizzle

the heart wet wth the hopeful flow of blood
We promised ourselves that upon the completion of this life
we would have expanded love and every magnificient gesture of it
don't let the weather stop you from traveling

Don't let customs stop you from getting aboard
those soggy tickets in hand love a dream
mist coming in heavily concealing the tides out there
beyond the warm river

You all dream about ports and trips
the absudity of feeling unique
somewhere far from your nest
oh the wonder of such a dry place

protected from the weirdness of the unknown
cozy and furry like the bold blue stratus
that longs for night as you do for distance
yet equally longing for the prosiac familiarity

As junkie in a cell

 baby far from breast

stomach from feast

child from embrace

and youll be pondering like a predictable machine
how the trip will go
as you disappear into the thickness
leaving your handprint in the moisture on the window

Uncustard

 welcome to a life of custard
let it not dry and crust up
for the buildings levels are a live 
seeking you to fill an office

exchange a few smiles
get the jobs done
feel a slight sense of pride
substitute the rest of your life

Those young faces here to greet you
their eyes fill up with familiarity
as they greet you like you were savior
the awning outside the front of the building
shaded
formal

Back up to guide youg lives into some custard bias
the milk of years gone by
it's the certainty in your voice
cunningly obscuring your errors

lick tenure now
one cycle after the next
the entitled accusing the entitled
seasons leave you retirement beacons
forgetfulness
duty

One cried
not enough sugar
rhyming
or remuneration

Down yeavering way

 I lived Once before this all, t'was a chore
just a thin man in the small town Blyth
Not a lot of prospects then called off to war
fought a few years and stole my fair share

collectibles some off the old bodies
unluckily deceased in the fray thrill
Back in Blyth i'd tell heroic stories
about the men I'd saved and killed

enough free drinks at the tavern is the truth
to make a tippler out of me never mistook
Sold my old relics to thatch the holy roof
became a lowly coalminer at Durham crook

every night empty home no hi's or goodbyes
coughing and soiled problems pissing
for a decade of booze and beautiful lies
that singing fools would pay drink to listen

The old cabin so cold as January finishes
down yeavering way a no exit diminished
each year another gram of exhaustion
another bag of memories extinguished

The loneliness holds me up
on my motorcycle as I speed off
to another shift down the shaft
No fuel in the legs

parents dead
siblings gone
talking to myself
deeper into silence

The street outside howling and sinister
in these bland frightful fangfull winters
I swear black shuck looked up from a hedgerow
As I glanced out streetlight glow expose

silence a cold lake feeling the flow
freezing over tediously slowly
the wind that breathes down yeavering way
under my front door hampering my brave

tickling the fire shivers feel a price
shutting the water and the past inside ice
whispering all the lies i've told back to me
A quiet tax on the conscience weighing heavily

The fuss I am

 Oh the fuss I am he said
The anxious nausea ahead
liquid like being sipped I'd say
to get us through an underwhelming day

the fuss I am
the fine clothes I demand
the right words to spew
associations I grew

smooth as the ruse
i believe I'm smooth
rolling off the ability
to vanglorify my self supercilious

the fuss I am dominates so brace for
the petulance that comes over my face
like a warm inviting smile cold and stoney
flooding this prodigious sanctimony

The fuss I am sits shaking to attack
begging to foresee and pleading to pro act
pedantic and finical inside my own headlock
reaching for that blindfold while I continually mock

avoiding my hypocrisy
to not taste or smell leave me be
the pretentious fumes omitting out of me
So I can get onto the business of putting into view
 the criteria I need for judging the rest of you

lille

  lying in the grass outside lille
Deep green short dense grass offering a mattress
seems clean mild cloud couldn't hold the land
passes like time

the world is a forehead round and unflattering
resting back letting that southern warmth throw
more air over it all soothing and healing
surreal to a metropolitan anxious waste

late morning toasted bread subtle coffee
late afternoon the soup cauldron full
and something mammal roasts
how the mouth makes a slave