Photos of dead trees

 I got the camera out
And I aimed it, what a way to get famous
Get my name out
but there was just brambles

The celebrity was so patient with me
As I fumbled my phone camera
Inverting the selfie
taking a photo of sticks

Of a dead tree
propped up against a mirror
The hardened fossil tongue of a dragon
And I never did get that photo
He had other stuff to do

Just what the identity needs
An excessively full agenda
A calender that fills the mansion wall
Celebrities like that are passing scenery
If you don't click, they just pass

The image as clear as it is
Catches dead sticks and old trees
Abandoned highways
fossilized dragon tongues
burnt out cars

Mirrors and defective cameras
screens hanging from lamposts
lopsidedly exposing parts we'd rather hide
disqualifying us from privilege

Pity eye and the backyards of our lives

 Pity eye in the back yard
Let me speak to you over the wall
This wallt hat divides us
it is too low
For I see what you do
and you see me

Pity eye your mother calls
forgets my name
she is is all chores
and I was just a game
From another life

Pity eye 
Just a distraction
Fromthe work you do
At that outdoor kitchen
In the forty degree heat

Pity eye hanging the washing
watch it dry so quickly
The sun is proclaiming
It's own glory over these backyards
So exposed to each other

Eager to help

 Elon musk hired another driver. His name was Mister Mastrus.
He was not just a driver, he was an errands guy, he was paid well.
The land was flooded that day. The weather was crazy. The driver was unable to arrive at the school. He was panicking. He just couldn't get around the huge puddles in the middle of the road. Mastrus called Elon, but Elon was occupied.
Mastrus called the A team to see if they could a helicopter in. They confirmed it. Mastruz turned the car around, drove through some very deep puddles and made his way back to the mansion.
Before he got up the driveway he already heard the chopping of the rotoblades. Then the craft came into view.
As he drove up onto the estates open carpark he wtinessed the pilot set the "Bird" down.
The cabin doors opened and the children burst out, one taunting, one excitedly running and another shouting. They all sprinted into the mansion.
The pilot leaned down and over and pulled a thumbs up to Mastrus.
Mastrus wound down the slightly tinted glass and reciprocated.
"We should get a beer later." Mastruz said.
"Oh that sounds great." The pilot said.
But the two men would never have that beer. Different paygrades.

Elon musk arriving on the surface

 Other people's agendas mist up the glass
One trillion distractions each a tiny hook
Your face draws near to the great surface
It is smooth and truthful as you try to be

The slightly pale terrain comes into sight
There will be a miracle ahead, not mysterious one
One based on Thielian ethics
A break through to sudden epiphany

Engines will become even more efficient
The mutliplanet species goal more realistic
Dare to approach the wall accept you are ready
Your eyes focus in, yes Elon it's you in the mirror

(This is not prose to criticize or mock Elon Musk, he is a genius and a visionary.)

Melting your hagstone

 
Oh sweat consumes all of my skin

Your coolness warms me up from within
Skin melts on fire I will become wet
I am becoming a sizzling mess
I seep into your floor
Highly contaminated no protection
Burning through cracks in your perception
Through this deep hole in your pavement

Becoming...

Silky radiation seering fury
Humid venus cooking like a stew
Boiling I spill into the next layer of you
Please block me with your icey resistance, just ignore me
I find a way, course through your past scars and pores
I become a stream, a firey river, I explode like war
I form forbidden hot pools causing you to thaw

I melt the frosted hagstone

This spiritual heat emanates melting it all
I penetrate your face odious and sullen
Your frigid glowing now dullens
Magma creeps over what once was frozen
I have come in the form of liquid odin
I have filled you with love 
where once there was only loathing

Variations of an echo

 I have dug and scraped
Barren soils
sarcastic mountains
pompous forests

Here in this silence
That cradles me
when the house was empty
Love was estranged

I shouted out into the nothings
Desperate my heart pumping for nothing
For my blood wasn't excited
My existence a void

I screamed out like a silly older brother
In a vacant basement
A cold dark sense of lack
Somewhere from the damp corner...

Came an echo
spinning it's tone across the hard floor
to my tiny ears
into my tiny existence

Here in this vacuous space
I heard an echo
Who blessed me when I couldn't find my heart
sitting souless like that boy I was

I have dug and scraped 
my finger nails worn down
color in the sound off the walls
I speak and she speaks back

I scream and she deafens me
I thought I was human
She shows me 
I am literally God

Terminus and train station theory

 I have been sitting here counting the minutes
Listening for the distant signs of my train
Something that would guarantee the next chapter
The big panels and ticket machines confuse eyes

Sometimes opportunity is no further than a cattle prod
I was afraid to window shop souvenirs
I wouldn't dangle legs over the side
Or play games with any oncoming train

The platform seemed to be endless
I looked down the length
swore I could see the next station
In the distance

An empty skittles packet is pushed by the wind
It comes so close to falling off the platform
Onto the tracks below like an empty person
But it didn't fall it just scraped sharply with each gust

No wind strong enough to send it on
In this huge open structure where people wait and wait
Forgetting to question forgetting to meditate
Staring at clocks, anxiety in wallets, purses and veins 

Arrival and departure

 Train's coming in
Right time, right place
Plate of food
Arrives at table
Family grin happy listening

Train has come
Waits for you to board
The anticipation
Like love rush
Obligation squirts

It comes in smoothly braking
The smooth squeal of tracks grinding
Inviting me in
I don't get on
I miss it on purpose

Table empty
Foodless
Joyless
Absent family
It exits

One flew away

 I was at the park next to the station
Two parrots on my arm
Both precious, talkative and elegant
I sat on a park bench

I just admired the feathers
Time took it's leave for this was living
And colors of these two parrots
This hugging and mugging

Keeping my mind fed
So I kept the bird seed flowing
One of the parrots flew onto a nearby meshfence
I wanted to get up and chase but knew I could lose both

So I just watched helplessly as the parrot took off 
Flying far from us
I realized among pigeons and homeless people
I had taken my beautiful life for granted

The ball and the red card

 Shooting through the stadium, far off the ground
Bouncing once, then a raised boot brings it down
Halts it from rolling, then kicks it with gumption
It flies again free in air further than assumption

It pleads to stay up as crowd cheers
Inevitably the trajectory leads down again
Meets the grass and lands between desperate men
One side races to attack the other defend

The sprigs meet and dig into a shin
Falls next to the ball, face contorted in sting
Drama performed in referee line 'o sight
There inside a pocket coming into stadium light

Like a newborn fated to destroy careers
Lids open as eyes swell in fear
Shoulders tremble arguements discarded
Rising up between fingers, the red card

Teach me the ideal kindness

 Teach me
How to give back to myself
Make me generous for tomorrow
Remind me kindly to be grateful

I want to give that ideal kindness
Sometimes I lose faith
Then I feel you repace it
But God, it's not you

I should push this together
Build something out of it
Real evidence i search for
You tell me I don't need to

Teach me 
How to get on with these others
The ones I suspect are phony
completely false

To want the world

 Its not enough to want the world
For I would like even more
Its not enough to change your mind
This way that way what should I guess

Talk about like its sealed fate
Like theres no chance involved
that is just a set progression
Then I see you pray steady

palm on palm
I want to won the whole mountain
I'll never sell the farm.

The world through a tangerine skin

 Orange peel tiny little polished dents 
covered yellow and green outside
Stringy white skin waste within
Each piece has been consumed

The ripped mess on the table
Once contained something juicy
Now dry and webby
completely empty

I look at how the skin holds itself up
Somewhere in the middle something golden once sat
That could kill thirst and attempt satiety
I tip it into the rubbish bin for the hollowness troubles me

Firebird

 See her on the metal
well she bounces through my mind
She picks up the world and bounces it
she bounces it off her thighs
she stares like cream

See her across the morning
steals every minute of it
harnesses the sun
Extraordinary phoenix
Regal form calls

ever expanding phoenix
Burn me back into existence

Unreachable Poseuse

 Above the stairway
Posing for God
The colored ties on arms
Above the steel

Speak with body
bold and intimidating
opening eyes and mind
Echoing in imagination

Haunt the dawn
End these dreams
Enter my power
Push me forward

Declare in the way
Give me that stance
Haunt these cloudless days
compound me expand me

 

Derivative Mimickery

The boys and girls chose their clothes
changed their images
Integrated the popular new themes
the choreography took place

Pieces on a game board
Repeating the done
Presented as a Novelty
Perfecting these trends

Ignoring the similarities
Doubling down on the hackney
One step forward two back
Rhythm leaching authentic heart beat

Grenades for lunch

 Recreations was washing and hand grenades
Snack and boom
shrapnel a handful
a stomach full of

Friends and dirty washing
The air explodes
Lunch box empty 
grenade oes rolling

Pin is out
Time to three
Time to shatter
Burst out

How to twist the truth

 I had the truth within my hands
I sculpted it wisely with tricks
Until it looked a lot more grand
More clicks, crunches and moxy

Now it's in the shape of an elaborate lie
Thawed just right for a hot pan fry
I had this fresh fillet of the truth
It has spice, punch and savory groove

I had the truth bent it almost broke it
Now its in the shape of a lie
I tried to use it to comfort others
most of them ended up crying

Like good thoughts through your mind.

 Through the head
Through your mind
reach down deep
what will you find?

Through your insides
Inner image clear
through your process
Destroy useless fear

Through day dream
doubt loses purchase
up the rockface
mindset toward striving

Like an emotion bursting open
flowering in the heart
Raising your vibration
through the challenge

Like a prayer that aligned
that shot lifeforce through you
pointing you in the right direction
Sending you onward gracefully

The mountain recites me

 There is a top, where all must get off
Some will be lifted, back to the past.
There is stop, life is a dance.
People search for slops, crumbs become dust.

There is top, where most attempt to climb.
Slow braking for some, the end of the ride.
A hard crash for others,
Senses subside.

Lust for the lush, ideal home. 
There is hindering, under the bones.
Instore is a thunder, that readies its roar.
Crater bell we ring, summit utters its demands.
There's an old song coming from the highlands.

There is a climb, take a rise, rub my sin.
Can't rub away my purpose, see it from within.
Standing even taller now, humid fog on knees.
Metamorphic heart immune to your disease
The mountain reads aloud, every word I wrote.
Reverberating verbs, from its stoney throat.

The words travel up, toward a fussing sun.
Reads the next line, with granite chimney lungs
Loosening grass roots, rigid searching hands.
Winter cast it's net, summer killed it's plans.
There is a song, coming from the highlands.
Dust to their apathy, glory to the mountain.

Michael and the queue

 Michael stood out at the convention
He was too tall and waiting in the wrong place
He wasn't going to be attented to
As I walked toward him I smiled and shook his hand

I didn't tell him he was forming a queue where there was no attendance
He would wait there for quite a time still
And this would be his day at the fair
Crowds of loud and quiet people

There was a slice of gossip and excitement for each one
Confusion for some envy for others
Long lines of armchairs where the weary could sit
Waiting for some event to begin

Something that would rouse them from their passive comfort
To get them to mosey on down toward the action, wait in a queue
One that predictably went nowhere as certain people were chosen only
Much of life can be lived like that, they leverage your interest

You live inside someone else's audience

Getting out of the valley

 Exiting the valley through a caged tunnel.
Electrified.
The tropical canopy exposed through bombing.
I tried to find things to deviate the current.

Then lift the chicken wire up so i could make it out.
Somewhere closer to the moutains.
Untouchable and incredible.
But I was stuck attempting not to shock myself.

Trembling at the thought of another electric snap!
So I just gazed upon those mountains.
I just imagined what my freedom might feel like.
I didn't push it, Maybe current would subside,

Maybe I needed to adapt myself to the shock.

Loud mouth

 The loud mouth sat inside the bus stop.
Shouting out loud
Unaware I could understand his voice
The old lady came walking out of the minimart
Crossing the empty road
interacting with the loud mouth
Like mother and son

The pale crusty faced loudmouth blabbered as I passed by
Screaming his inside joke to the elderly woman crossing
She apporached him with her groceries and new stories
Scolding and my presence and affirming his derision of me
Maybe if I had their eyes I would see myself as a zombie
One they zombared and mocked for fun afternoon distraction
They were pale ghouls to me obstacles to avoid in the growing shade of four pm.

The park was her redemption

 She was out walking her dog
age was a cousin
the weather was her sister
That why she was out
The leash on her dog was shame
The park was redeemption
An attempt at life

She took each step like walking on brimstone
The dog turned and looked up at her
Considering her mood
But her eyes were on the other side of the road

Lost in the desperation of imposssible dreams
The pavement was a long tongue
Tasting her and her dog
Telling them to walk slower
Drying in the sun an awkward eel
Then finally going mute
She drops the leash and trash and walks home

 

If you knew me

 If I shake out these sheets
Wash them for drying in tomorrow's sun
Will you forgive me
Will you love me but not need me

If I sweep the floor 
and get every speck
Will you notice
And then let emptiness come on

The one I've known without you
The one who spoke to me when the world was unknown to me
I didn't prefer that world at all
I'd prefer to be loved

Out of anyone's repertoire
Unseen in their eyes
So living is subtle sleep
only waking for the bothersome, the curious

If I paint these walls
Polish these windows
Will you see me clearly
What I really am

Or will I linger the way you imagined
Not really the man I truly exist as
Just a collage of what you picked out
And stuck on me inside your mind

Teeth and fairgrounds

 The teeth fit somewhere in my mouth
where do they fit?
My mouth doesn't have space
I feel each person's attempt

To build their stall
To sell their goods
fitting the roof
Putting slats in for the walls

But these teeth don't fit
So how am i supposed to eat?
Life is fairgrounds and novelty 
People walk through hardened sand

Looking behind them 
To see if their footprints stuck
I can't get these teeth to stick
What am I about to lose?

The fire room

 Stoke the fire room
My mind needs heat
my heart does too
The room under the hill
In this forest at the ends of the earth

It is table upon table of wood atop each burning
Inside the shadowed room
The entrance a mouth speaking
little sparks and bursts of heat

lips and tongues are flames
There are no eyes to discern
For the burning is the blindness itself
The internalness the living close to ones own hot heart

Pumping the fire through earth of body
The scream of existence 
That only really stops
when you drop dead

The meaning of retirement

 The retirees lived in a world of their own
With the spirits of those who had passed on
Books previous residents left
House plants that had outgrown their pots
But were still beautiful and lively
Somehow their little haven intact

Their collections and hobbies had become their lives
Their pet names and inside jokes gluing their days together
Long hours spent playing their instruments
Or picking fruit from the orchard
Death comes imposingly like imperial soldiers
To carry you off despite the grand sacrifices 

Happily Evicted

 The two men walked out of their building.
They smiled at the sun and jumped down from the sidewalk to the gutter.
It was half a meter to keep the pedestrians feet dry in the summer rains.
The two men who were just brats in reality danced across the tarmac.

The sun fried the darkest edges of the road.
The aroma of breakfast foods permeated the streets.
Both just pretended the world was great.
But infact they had been evicted.

Both smelled like mold, old sweat and sour garbage.
But they wore smiles, they forced them across their faces.
Survival demanded fake nonthreatening joy.
Beside frowning wouldn't save them anyway.

The importance of stds and overdose

 The night's games have begun.
Drapes were drawn guests were stunned
The tight room filled with impulsive men and beautiful women.
The swagger of the trembling thirsty braggarts flew in.

Chaos, the fear of missing out, fleeting attractions
Mixed with inebriation from powder cut in fractions
Over sweetened words, exaggerated reactions.
A panel of gossipers to shame and to track sins.

Bouts of laughter that seemed would kill the laugher.
Games of every type but mostly illusions.
From harmless to ones that leave contusions.
But all were just excuses purely ruses.

Streetlights guiding the wanters in to feel less dead.
they were pythons wearing lamps on their heads.
Addictions were organized and satisfied to ease spicy glowers
So that quips and jokes could improve for about half an hour.

Eyes scanned the room looking for sympathy, yet scorn we are.
Each being self absorbed on the edge of their fragile euphorias.
None had an inkling of real love for the next. each a bubble.
Games went on with winners pretending they were humble.

Losers pretending they hadn't lost, exit, mumble, now waiting with a gun.
Vices and the intense visceral drive to fulfill took them over one by one.

 

Dinner was spoiled

 The dinner table itself was a house many meters across.
The people ate off it's broad roof.
They shouted for specific foods.
One waiter had a beak and stalk legs and would walk around the house.
Offering substitutes the house diners preferred beyond for the common fare. 

Plates were filled but arrived late.
Grins turned to grimaces.
Laughing to silence.

Waiters all had beaks and stalk legs and walked around the house.
Handing the impatient guests their plates after long delays.
Dishes all missing specific ingredients.
Often the the thing that made the food zing.

They stole my dog

 Alex and his friend stepped out onto the street.
Popular guys that suddenly had purpose. A hundred projects.
The street was warm because morning sun had declared itself.
Alex was the choppy one, his friend was the smooth one. Their first order of business was to steal my dog. And they did it. They ran off with my dog and tied a look a like to a street drain grill. I went I freed the dog but mine was long gone. 
Alex and his friend attempted to sell my dog at an auction. But he was no pedigree, he had no special features beside his pointed ears and smart eyes.
What made my dog special was the personal Love I had for him.
So when i saw him being exchanged for a tenner in the garage of the Alex's house, I gave a hundred to the guy who bought him. Took my dog back. Cast the evil eye on all who attended, made a note of fire escapes and left proudly through the front door.

Shopping trolley conflict

 He looks at me 
I look back
He lays on that slurr
I run him over with my shopping trolley

Was I supposed to hold back
Pretend I didn't hear his jeer
But no I heard it and my jeer sent me forward
I apologized and thankfully hear it's rehearsed tone

Got closer to that smug face
Oh how I'd like to smack it
To interrupt his life
Get confrontational

I kept rolling on those trolley wheels
To the bread and frozen goods
I'd smooth myself over
and chill out

The one that led me astray

 My name is Bandara I am a simple scrap metal collector near kandy.

That saturday morning I had come across a stash of steel, copper and brass taps and pipes. Dumped there, most certainly by another scavenger, so he could pick it up at another more convenient time. I saw the heap of banana leaves and knew it was a give away for the laziest way of hiding your treasure. It was mine to pick  up. Whoever this other collector was they had chosen the worst way to deposit it all. I myself kept a small trough in my cart and would bury whatever I could, especially when parts of my country were under curfew, and I wouldn't be able to finish my haul.
I had stacked the find in my little wooden cart which rolled on two car tyres worn down to their trecherous radials. It had been a nervous venture, Because I knew the real owner would be back soon to claim his treasure. But today it was mine, from now on it was mine.
I hid the load under some cardboard in case another collector got curious by the weight inside my cart, and by the way I was struggling to pull it.

I did pull the cart and all the way to Gohagoda, where there was a perfect girl slim and graceful, working in the pet bottles department. She wouldn't look at me, I had nothing to offer. But I'd often go out of my way to pass her area just to get a look at her. It was like spying on a leopard. When she felt my eyes on her, she would move out of sight. So I called her Kotiya.
That day I got a good look her and she had looked back. Not with interest, just tolerance. And so I thanked God "Sadhu" all the same. With enough money for the week. I headed home. With no expectations I would enjoy my saturday. I left my cart in the yard near my mother's small wattle and daub house. I tucked the money into a crevice inside the cement block holding up my bed.
I walked out looking for more fortune.

I took the same route as I had when I had found the stash and kept walking, without my cart it seemed I could walk for miles. Without the sound of the rubber and radials on the stones of the unpaved road I was able to hear everything down to the Naja Naja hiss. Animals didn't see me or hear me coming.
It was nearing noon and the heat was unbearable on the exposed part of the road I was walking. I wandered off the road Seeking the cool of nearby trees. One of those trees was a four story tall Jackfruit. I looked up and counted nine huge fruits hanging grom the trunk.
I suddenly noticed a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye.
I used my instinct to turn slowly and my eyes found a leopard, Kotiya. It was moving through the outcrop of trees silently. A tear formed in the corner of my eye, just to see the way those legs moved.
Would I follow it?
I would.



 

Opply manner servants

 A new day in the breakfast room at grand Opply manner. The servants folded sheets, organized the breakfast tables. The two women supervising checked the itinerary for the day.
The roundness of the building soothed the weary minds of the servants. Sanding and chiseling down the angry statues that were their thoughts about the day ahead. As they set the cutlery beside fine napkins on each table.

The pale sky wandered in through the glass, waking from a starless darkness, a silent and lost slumber.  
Wandering in like a confident orphan with nothing to lose.
The movement of the servants, their organization and grace intertwined with the wandering paleness.
It glinted off the cutlery and crockery upon the tables and lit each servant up, as if they were performing a play for onlookers at Opply manner.

The way it curves upward

 The enlightenment Duchy
I see these ambassadors walk out through the magestic gates
Onto the platform bridge above paradise valley
Their garments flow and glow elegantly in the glare 
In these blue skied days that eternally rise and fall
between confortable nights

They flaunt their smiles that spread and rise to perfect dimples
The few clouds that are born on the horizon show symmetry
Dancing in slowmotion until dusk muddles their forms
But nothing muddles the ambassador's form
For an empire emerges that holds each day as sacred

Not one minute, not one hour is in vein
for it expands it advances
Those that tried to slow it were trampled
Rotting in it's wake above ground
Flags and trumpets blew to turn our attention from the stench

The ambassadors called in the remnants from every corner
And made great infantries from them
Curating the next millenia of  trade and violence
Curating the human smile
The way it curves upward like a knife

The mysticism of the scrapyard

 Backyards to the city's big factory estates
Overgrown weeds, papayas and banana palms
Long path stretching along the length of the day
Along the length of stretch of abandoned grass corridor
Along the wall holding up the hill behind it all 

Along the ugliness of the industrial dereliction
Rusted fences and aggressive parrots perched
Old machines never properly decommissioned
protruding from stems of the common herbs
old metal skeletons of a bygone age

Somewhere in it all hid a treasure
Not one men and women could see
Something the spirit of the land sought
Through all that was abandoned
A mystery inside the contrasts of old and new

Inside the rust along the surfaces of the steel folds
Inside the spiderwebs set within massive iron cogs

Pick see Arizona

 The local pharmacy ran out of your medicine
You suffered there in the shared house for the disabled
Family had left you there a little container for your seizures
I saw you in your trouble and your pain

The dry heat of Arizona leaving you slow and exhausted
Now you have come along a lost child in the street of my word
The teddy bear hangs from your hand close to the pavement
Your national health card sticky and sweaty in your hand

You will smoke sometimes to smooth the edges
It hangs in the air the pill holders are empty
Stacked and waiting to be recycled
I saw you in state of stress

I send a blessing as you enter your new crisis
The internal and external thoroughly abrasive against you 

Gratitude behind the nothing

 God I love you behind the nothing
If you were to take me today I'd sing
I would still be thankful albeit solemn
I'd thank you for every moment

Even the shittest

God I love you and adore you for giving my life wonder
For making me this way through my father and mother
I will love you behind the nothing or in strife
For every year of my fortunate life

Even those shit ones

God I will love you behind the nothingness
I will not search for evidence in the roughness
I will wait at the bus stop after death
For you to pick me up no fuss

Even on one of those shit buses

I'll get on and ride to wherever we go next
Purgatory always vexed, I'll still love you from behind it.
A dark hell of unkindness, I'll still love you through the pain.
Thank you for this life each hourglass grain.

It was not shit. i would live it again.

Master Matheus and the slope to ascendance

 Matheus within the popularity.

His face had hardly aged. His hair and eyes shone. It is with this man I thought I might get answers.
There is nothing as self destructive as a desperate heart I heard myself murmur.
Passing cliques with their strange scents and shared sentiment.
Walking slowly over the polished pavers inside the mall of enlightenment.
I approached him and embraced him. His own disciples ignored me.
They looked upon me as if they had recognized me. I had never seen them in my life.
A certain envy was ready to spring up within me, the sense they knew not just who I was, but my questions for Matheus the popular.
The mall was dazzling with huge deocrated alcoves and recesses.
His disciples continued following along as Matheus tolerated my presence. He knew my feelings about life before I could speak. I was exposed before I opened my mouth. I was vulnerable before I knew I was in a vulnerable position.
We got to the part where he would explain to me how I would traverse myself into God.
We reached the steep incline at the back of the mall open to the skies.
Matheus walked up gracefully and steadily. I could find no traction and slipped.
I felt like that five year old again hauling my brother along.
Being blamed by him and my parents for my shortcomings.
My shoes were worn and so I slipped, my face smacked against the slope as I slid down.
The disciples heaved me up again. I wanted to applaud them. To embrace them.
But I was dead weight for their hands and arms. their faces already showed strain.
There was not a miligram of goodness inside me, despite my attempts.
Attempts, oh how important it is to try.
Teach me to love my failings, so as to make amends for countless examples of them.
So I slid down and simply watched Matheus and his followers ascend into some form of rapture awaiting them above.

Thank God for this short meeting with master Matheus.
Leave me behind, below. In the chambers of gossip and flattery and meaninglessness.
This family has too many children abandon this useless child that I am in the thickest part of the forest.
I will lose my way and perish away from your caring eyes.
What a burden I have become.
 

On the hills of enlightenment

 In the park of high enlightenment
I beheld the families of perfect alignment
Smiles of symmetry
Acoustically harmonious laughter

A Pristine Lake exposing large colorful gliding coy 
Emerald green grass that never required cutting
I meandered toward the lower hills
Hoping to set eyes on the noble families

There they were a top the tall grassy mounds
Catching a breeze and giggling and holding hands
As if the mere state of being alive was ecstacy
The joyous laughter caught and echoed down those hills

I made it half way up to them
My determined grin
My own self image
Balancing on top of one of those tall mounds

The mound cracked at the base and slowly came loose
I ran along it as it fell down narrowly avoiding my death
None of the perfect families who sung and dance noticed me fall
Up there where they stand time is different

They understand love fully
They can take a moment to live fully

Farewells for a piece of my shadow

 My ears long for that patter of rain across the eave.
That I can hear, that will lull me to sleep.
Somewhere in the peace of it's consistency I will rest
Along that flowing slight beat

Somewhere some part of me departs
I tell it goodbye and it leaves in the dark wet night
It treads toward the park I try to keep clean
It finds the carboard remains of local homeless

It follows roads to the stained motorways
Then to the bare fields where rice once grew bountifully
Walking up toward the mountain where this rain seems to migrate from
Slipping between ridges like an imposter

Always an imposter

My ears long to hear it's footsteps on the rocky ground
Up into nowhere, where jokes make no sense
Spirits stirr and unknown things occur
Along that flowing slight beat

I see that part of me turn and vanish
The part I had so much hope for
That would awaken my tastebuds
Such a world is left where savory and sweet don't exist

They have been absorbed by waterlogged grounds
Shallow floods the physical me avoids at all costs
Walking straight on to the pretenders of this little kingdom
Who are you they ask me straight

Always an imposter, I say

Weighing nothing

 Will I be blown away
Lose myself where the smog meets the cloud layer
Closer to the sun but obscured all the same
I was simply levitating
now I'm gone
Good luck

I weigh nothing so I swing up in the wind
Like a parachute spider
no destination
also no pain, no stakes
Just air flow
enjoyable confusion

So I will be blown unknowingly into the sky
the layer that offers freedom to ponder

Diagnosis in the dry tear

 She picks her foot off the shiny surface
Places on the wheel chair pad
Pushing herself forward
Wheels squeak inside the axel

Slide and whine on the hospital floor
Long and harrowing
Bumping into the doctor's leg
He bends down

He gives the bad news
A tear hits the vinyl
At first rounded on landing
Then flattened

By day's end a stain
forgotten unidentifiable
She spins the wheel chair around
Rides back to her cubicle

Some overwhelming spirit
Flickers inside of the light
Attempting morsecode to say
Relief and good fortune are on their way

The jealous aunt pulls the curtain
Flicks off the light
Reminds her sister on the stretcher
You were always a lot

Flame on legs and the moon

 The flame with legs

Crosses the quarter moon

the shallow lake 

reflects it delicately

Eyes back up to stars

Stars inside the water

supernatural mists dissapate

and manifest into the water

The flame with legs

crosses the half moon

a flooded reservoir

A nightly bather disappears

Just the happy stuff

 Just the happy stuff.
The world got to serve me up those positive vibes like pies.
Stories of hope that inspire us to take another step forward instead of backward.
Rage and disappointment and other interrruptions left you with lard in a bath.
It's looking back up at you like a living creature.
It squirms and tells all those good anecdotes you forgot from high school.
A lost friend with no bones or organs swarming over the porcelain.
Reminding you of those good realities you missed those years ago.
Just the happy stuff though.
And when you convince that long piece of purple lard that you are the bad memories.
Well then it just dehydrates and tucks into itself, blocks the drain until you can no longer wash.
You can no longer even approach the bathtub, because you killed that lard of yourself.
Convincing the purpleness that it was not grand by every ill you drudged up.
By every micro tragedy that you put your full singing voice into screaming out.
To a single witness, the long piece of lard, no longer living.
A careful friend who poisoned themselves in hope that you wouldn't.

Urgency of the professional woman

 Lucy drove her car to the family batch house. I read nervousness in her hands gripping the wheel. Driving slightly out of control. I read fury in her gestures. Taking the corners much too quickly and almost hitting the lamposts closest to the sidewalk gutter.
She looked angry and panicked at the same time. She was going to crash and seemed bent on causing the accident to come. Even though it was a thought inside her head and not outward desire to just crash.
She was going to kill me too. Her side passenger.
We approached the family house and she accelerated toward the house, killing a child who was playing on the front porch.
She ran out of the car as I remained inside the car, bleeding from a head wound and my nose, something was wrong with my leg. Lucy was a maniac and was throwing an incredible tantrum.
The child's mother came running out of the front door and mirrored Lucy's strange emotional appeal and dramatic expression. Screaming and shrieking on the front lawn.
More and more blood poured out over the seat.
"Is this my fault somehow?" I thought to myself.
From the second story another woman in her seventies looked down at the incident. She nodded as if she had been expecting it all. 

A sprint.

 I ran through hell. A suspended glass corridor. Under a huge pit of fire.
Sparks fly like birds, brimstone drops and cracks the glass.

I sprint across the glass naked and burning.
The pain reaches every centimeter of skin.
I scream and make it to the other side.
Struggle with the door.

Before me stands a mirror exposing all
Every monster and demon who has latched on
During those days when everything was about surviving
I turned to avoid the ugliness

Yet behind me another mirror appeared
And showed me infinitely evil
Like I was just getting started
I woke like a sword swinging

Burn marks up and down my body
hell so incredibly real
The world a simple game
Dressed up as complex

Lanky and free

 Happy go lucky
Lanky and free
The man with several women

Who wakes when he wakes
In a barn with a batch attached
Cigarette lit before coffee

A cliche repeating joke
Mixing nostalgia with stubborn low wit
He gets into his old rusted out datsun

Winds down the window 
Hoiks a loogie
Pulls a burnout

Meets the shitkickers for a snack and joint
Nothing's new the world is small
The urgent child is still navigating his restless mind

Danubian wrath

 This stretch of the river is trecherous
The riverbed littered with broken wrecks
This part, many a boat capsizes
Taken down before they realize
Whatever lives under its banks
Unseen giant teeth tug claws yank
Consumes the helpless
surface blood boil mess

The current is not natural
Flows contrarian and lateral
water courses randomly through
Convincing eyes that lies are true
Like a hungry serpent searching
Bodies of drowning merchants
through the dark depths 
among the old wrecks

This measure of the river is deadly
Something curls willow roots warily
Stay inside the safety of your boat
Grab rudder, pray, you stay afloat
If you hear a knocking underneath
Attend it not less cetain death

What they say

 what they tell us in the night
What they want in the day
What they hint at on the phone
I try not to be ashamed

I always want to say more
But it's just soft sand
Wanna be rock you adore
Wanna be grand

What they tell me underneath
Subtle hints I cannot read
They tell me they're a feast
And that I'll soon feed

Tell me through telepathy
 I gather each piece carefully
Digest, misunderstand predictably
What they say is lovely

Abandoned in a cinema

 Is there a jar?
It's too sweet in here
Each surface is sticky
The abholstered seat, furry 

The sugar seems to have its own smell
The boiled candy awaits fingers
Like a cinema screen awaits eyes
The aisles littered with popcorn

Sarah ajar
Waiting for your mother
Sarah stands and the seat flicks back up
Sarah sees the closing credits come down

But where is mother?
Where is father?
She has been abandoned
With just a jar of boiled sweets

The speckled cat and the road

 Ive seen the speckled cat
The treasured wall where it would bask
I have seen the signs
The road is long, the road will wind

I've seen the speckled cat
Found the rare penny
Rusted from the rain
stuck inside the tar

I patted the cat 
the past spoke
It yelled
It drove onto the shoulder

I patted the cat
The past whispered
It calmed
It breaked toward the intersection

I've seen the speckled cat
It meowed at my arrival
It stared at me
As if the road itself was mine

The rubbish men obstacles

 The way was blocked by rubbish men
Gruff and impatient menacing even
Standing together intimidated
I just wanted to get through

I just wanted to have what is mine
The tunnel was closed
And they made some quick quip
in their speak in their lip

I didn't get it
But must have been funny

When the sun visits you

 The sun angled down
It was trying to heat the morning
Inside houses that faced eastward
Windows facing welcomed the rays

The sun came in like a welcomed visitor
Smiling in through the glass
reaching for the coffee
looking down into it at its own reflection

Pulling out before midday to migrate across the valleys
Visit the rest of the inhabitants whose houses face westward
He walked across the pavement though the garden fence 
All the way into vacant frigid garage spaces

He shook my hand that day
Told me all was right with the world
I took his advice
and relaxed

Celebrate other's victories

 The boy that greeted me was my nephew
Hadn't formed a bad opinion about me yet
Hugged me and told me that he admired me
For what, he didn't mention specifically

The breakfast room crackled with optimism
People gleeful, I watched from the doorway invisible
I was behind in their bizarre race. moments of accolade
It seemed anomalies such as I were tolerated

By the blacksheep coming of age
I was some mythical hero
But by the societal weave of tunnel vision stewards
I was a person to tolerate

Cake tea and advice
My father's ghost dressed in a tuxedo
To celebrate but another raw achievement for the family
I Looked in once more from the outside window, then drove away

The phantom visitor

 A motion sensor light went on
from a car that had arrived after dark
It's headlights shone through the front
Lighting up the entry of the house

Something crawled near the open front door
Then the car slowly reversed and turned
We searched the entrance for the thing we saw
But whatever it was it hid too well

Then we went outside to see if the car had actually left
Half expecting to see that it was still there
It had pulled out and driven away
It was gone

We searched the hedges
And outside of the house
Nothing...

Sensitivity Surtr

Come across something majestic rising leagues above the surface. Open to the world and alive. Inside, look for the source of the light. See stonecrops in every color, Poppies, harebells and black vanila orchids. In every form and every offering. They climb and anchor themselves inside the gargantuan cavern. 
Further in witness a brightness that clears eyes and cleans thwarted souls.
Observe other species of flowers more abundant and more fragrant than most in the forests outside.
Can one be something else here?
Speaking out loud, aromas unknown, in formats of bracts eyes recognize.
Pulled in further. Become a resident inside here. waking each day from a bed of moss. And conducting a ritual of existence.
Go to the entrance to check the surface of the earth and nothing has changed.
But here within feel a transformation within the walls and inside the depths where one fears to tread.
Absorb the blessing and understand the value of being the resident here.
It chisels the mind, change and shape shift with each day...

To return to the surface to test the divinity and sensitivity from the cave of light.
Fill mind with this knowledge, with the unknown wisdom.
Stay open, for the ways of the world are no refuge.

There's no befriending litterers

 The plastic eye dropper left his hand.
Twirled in the air and landed in the grass.
a relaxed hand extended for an introduction.
It was nervously refused.

Behind his face videogames were playing.
Final scores to games his team played.
Beyond that not a lot of content.
He couldn't even manage a smile.

He put out his joint on the park bench he sat upon.
Flecks and tiny embers, a dark carbon stain on the wood.
The overwhelming sense that the world wasn't his hit him.
That the world belonged to the rubbish collector.

Breaking morning's surface

 Dreamy blue
cold, direct, fresh and new
Saying day has started
Walk into me, color on art

Leave bed safe and sound
Scatter your cloud
peace is written
God smirks smitten

Conscious it's morning
Stretch and yawn
Pull daylight with care
Brace for the brisk air

Home invasion

 The intruders looked down from downstairs
Casually as if nothing was wrong
The sirens began to wail
But they didn't budge

I called them down
and the police arrived 
They were stacked awkwardly 
With a vagrant in the back

I waved them off
As they stared through the tinted windows
One of them raising his fist to extend the middle finger
The cruiser launched forward bumping their heads together

Private studio

 She kicks out in yoga
In an exclusive room. 
Windowed sliding door

She got a ride with the tandem car
In the backseat with me
Her studio was private

Her posture was her charm
She never really invited anyone in
The odd passerby would gawk

Not I
I said
Transfixed

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 release pink indentations
And draw more blood still
The Dog head is growling
It jerks the neck and sinks in

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.

Pitsmouth

 The heap of rocks piled a meter high.
On the flat sandy wasteland.
The weight veins clicking inside and out.
The grey shiny fragments of marble shimmer.

Shimmer as a warning to the oncomer.
A reflection that says turn back.
No hope beyond this point.
One turns back.

Attempts to retrace steps.
The humm in the air 
The miles of vagueness
The only other point on the horizon

Is a cave entrace that is above ground
Its darkness blinking like an eye alive
Staring out across the desolate nothings
Combing for a curious interloper

Heart untended

 The wire shone in the sun
It was 9.30am in the morning
A spider web had been sewn about it
The spider had hidden tiself somewhere

Little drops on the wire were being lit up
Sparkling on the cold metal
The vacant lot behind a galaxy of weeds
With neglected walls holding them in

Does that sound like your heart
A vacant lot walled in with old brick
Bursting with weeds left untended
Is that you there seeing your own heart at 9am

Raw emptiness
Raw indifference

To my porch

 Maybe she would just tiptoe into my life,

as if it were some sort of sin.

Quietly making her way onto my porch.

I'd be sitting there in a recliner.
She'd see me and come sit on my lap.
She'd let me hear her worries
in that soft voice of hers.

She would finally work up the courage to cross the lawn.
She has an inkling of what I have in mind.

Will I squeeze her?
Most probably.

Will I want to take her in for finer tuning?
No car puns or metaphors, but yes.

And work up that romantic adrenaline
the way one does before a bungee jump,
feeling it course through them.

I catch her glance from the other side of the road.
She'll cross soon,
on those bouncy cycling legs.

"But she's so timid," you'd ask.

Yes, she is,
but she knows she's been chosen.

And love is something I can afford.

Standing on the curb,
tipping her foot forward and backward,
I can see her calf flex in the streetlight.

Soon she'll walk over to the front steps.
I'll usher her over.
It won't be my charm.
She knows where it's at.
I won't pretend.

And she'll say those words:

"I've been thinking about you."

I'll tell her to sit on my lap
and share the evening with me.

Then she and I will make love
until it feels strange to separate.

But we will separate,
and she may ignore me afterward.

Yet I will know of her,
and she of me.

And one of those warm winter evenings
will find her restless once again.

She will find me on the porch,
in the recliner.

My lap will be warm.
She'll be drawn in.

Smoking out of bounds

 Outside the fence
The trees and undergrowth conceal
I pull a cigarette
Time doesn't matter

Duties don't matter
I hear a voice calling people in
Angry at the lack of limits
The poorly maintained fences

They need dark shade
Or direct light
Just not the greys
Just not the twilight

A place where rules lull the abider
Into a sense of structure
Yet even the air itself disobeys
Fast growing exotic trees out of bounds

I light the cigarette
The smoke billows out
The voice dies down
The man connected gone

Other stragglers emerge from the undergrowth
Wary and troublesome souls
Escaping the limits and structure
I pull smoke into my lungs then exhale

Take leave, or shut yourself in

Avoid eye contact 
They stay glued now
Can't offer more 
Less than back then.

Cannot offer
Don't melt, don't routine this.
Stay out of touch, get on with life.
I'm not right or honest.

Grudge holding
Watch them step down
Because I get ahead
I step up 

Cannot offer
Unglue if possible
Take leave
The way I was forced to

Avoid eye contact
Zero intimacy
Faithless walk off
Seal up and hightail it

Or surrender it all
Take your pill
shut yourself in
An orphan in a shack
Outside violent fucking hurricanes

Betting on the underdogs

 I wake in the afternoon
Green cape
The goal
The net

I sleep at night
The kicks
The dribbles
I wake to the whistle

But I doze off again
The grass inside my ear
The noise of the stadium
Put me into REM sleep

I wake as the lights go out
watch the seats empty
Their over eager celebrations
Dying down with the exhaustion of the players

A muse no longer

 I used to be obsessed with her
The many pretty characteristics were
Though it's been such a long while
she was the color and the smile
How her image glowed in us
How I fantasized future promise

I couldn't bring her closer to me
And How I fussed, how i freaked
And now the inversion is happening
She loses herself in the years and dust
She was the reservoir of potent lust

Now I seek ones who always want more
Power reflects off these ones I adore
The ones I once thought, so very dear
let themselves go, no longer care

No longer spin the dreams at night
Or watch their figure out of pride

But then I should have never expected them
To boost creativity or be more than pretend
When I pushed too far they refused me
Why bother in life if you hate improving
They played games, but only changed in mood

There is no end to this at any rate
Where you stop is where you degenerate
So don't blame God, or the way I look now.
It's not time to give up, but you've thrown in the towel.

Gun grease adrenaline

 I squat to pick the up the heavy machine gun.
The gun weighs me down as I run toward the dug out.
I grab my small spade and dig into the clay between the trees.
I deepen the dug out by a full foot before I hear a zippo flick open.

A colleague lights his cigarette from behind a nearby oak root.
Just sticking out enough to get a bullet in him.
If I pointed that out it would be the fifth tiome today.
So he'd play fate, but I would only ever play it safe.

Two of ours pull an injured man out of the ravine.
Dragging him passed us the injured man heaves in pain.
The crack of rifle fire gets closer and closer.
I click the belt into place and imagine the killing to come. 

A homeless haircut life

 The homeless young man pushed his cart a long.
Half full of the things he had picked up along the way.
He skipped gleefully and reached the sidewalk.
The smile exposing his inner self.

His haircut was patchy.
The life he lived was much like that haircut.
some of it was bare and exposed.
Other parts were bushy and overgrown.

There was a happy soul in this man.
Not a bitter one.
I offered him an ongoing blessing.
One from a wish I had that he would live.

That he would continue.
Despite his rough streetness.
That he would find food and shelter.
Remain happy go lucky.

The flourishing junky

 The lit cigarette drooped from his lips.
He said good afternoon but it was still morning.
I read his eyes and they told me he was dismal.
He stared into me.

I stared into him.
There was something he wanted,
but nothing I could give him.
He was scared and down.

Under the thick heavy shade of the mahogany trees.
He sucked a drag and guilt slipped out with the smoke.
He tried to keep his feet aligned in steps along the sidewalk.
He turned on his little boom box and sung a long.

I dug the garden as he passed by.
whatever drug he was using dimming him fully.

She reads into me

 She reads into deeply, considering just what kind of creature I am.
She is half sure but still making up her mind.
Oh to be dreamed about,
Oh that my words would have any weight outside of my imagination!

The further in she goes the stranger yet brighter her world becomes.
I will not pollute it with these thick veins that pump skeptical blood.

Flow of ideas, care and surreal excursion.
Junctions, there are many hidden paths.
Insist on going deeper where the child me is found.

Godlike and peaceful unaffected by chaos of others.
Unlike the man who stands before you affected and mediocre.

Back lawn January morning 81 replaying every hour.
Touching the garden and pretending to bless it with his finger.
Come deeper he ushers and the lilacs flower purple and fragrant.

The begonia dream and personal magic have enchanted the day.
He is me even now, I am still back there in that Waikanae garden.

Or the hemi matenga hills where I would often roam all alone.
Something strange unidentifiable inside the forests.
Something that thought me prey, saw me, then ran away.

Hours alone, Inside the lost reservoir lake.
Where giant eels would sniff me like dogs.
What creature am I?

Am I the nameless wanderer in the dreamlike forest?
The oversized eel with thick veins pumping curious blood...
Am I the ghost of a dead hero seeking sweetness in a garden?
Read into this creature I am.
Go deeper, go deeper i am not one single layer

Where does my dominion end?
My physical form?
My imagination?

A world that screams

 He sits there as the other children clap and scream in glee.
His frown becomes apparent and even from meters away i can feel his tremors.

I want to comfort him and tell him it's okay as the other children start singing loudly.
He starts to panic and will now remove himself from the group.

I would like to protect him.
But I can't he's not my son.

I feel like I'm losing something as noone goes to comfort him
As he simmers in the state of his won reality.

I feel everything he's feeling. A world that just screams and never thinks.

A room after death

In a room
Broken off from the house
Surfaces are clean flat and sharp
This room  has been ripped off the house
Sent up into the stratosphere by some freak tornado

Inside the room
Now I'm looking out of the window
No longer seeing the earth
Giddy as hell
A level of disorientation that feels like destruction.

In this room
Everything is slippery, spinning yet still inside the tornado
Here I will learn unending terror
There is no earth below
No space or solar system above

Outside this room
A deep sunlit blue taunting and surrounding
Lit up by a sun I cannot see
Here I'll learn just how wrong I've been
I grip furniture as everything spins

There is no pity here, it is unrelenting panic
There is no safety here, I am falling upwards like Shiva
Searching for the inner strength
Instead of being grateful for this immaculate perdition

 

A sacred world

 All is sacred of the world
Yet inside many things are also frivilous
where's the path? Covered by the wind blown dust
And yet the world is sacred, but you didn't pick up the broom

So it was hidden under the dirt and grime
Now a shovel is needed
Dig your treasure
Blunt the shovel

The world is sacred
the way we absorb it might be iniquitous
interacting with the liveliest parts
ignoring the quieter ones

People are reckless 
motorcycle brains
Running on lard carbs and sugar
Covered by wind blown debris

Yet the world they live in is sacred
A holy rolling stone we sit stationary on
yet the restless ones try to accompany the spin
The drive and the hype

The world's invisible balance
Is seen by the rare spiritual one
The vision is the treasure
The seeing is the value

Winning over my eyes

 She sat on the bench i'd often exercise my chest on.

That is where the heart physically lives.

She crossed her leg over the other one and chose the song she would finish the exercise on.

She started tapping her foot in such a way I was drawn in.

I had to use my keen peripheral vision.

I knew If i looked at her directly the possibility she thought I was a creep would become ever present.

I guess she'd found the song she was searching for.

Because it went from a foot tap, to a bouncing knee.

let me tell you something about me, I can't pass up a woman's bouncing knee.

Perhaps the coup de grâce was when her head started nodding to the beat.

Slowly and elegantly.

I tried to pull my eyes away. Because now I was looking at her directly.

Where was my shame, my self control.

Nowhere, I just wanted to see her sitting on that bench like a miracle listening and lip syncing the music for my pleasure.

No longer worried if she thought I was a creep.

She wins my eyes everytime.

The flow and flush

 

You might want to check your plumbing

 Maintenance is key for the great S bends of life

 Before those stinking shapes accumulate

 Avoid giving yourself yourself a blockage

 The cleaning never ends

 Negligence is a world for diseases

 Life is about flow, grab a plunger

 For when it all gets backed up

 Hide your problems though smell lingers

 Too much paper clogs the system

 Use the duck and don't forget to brush

 Enjoy it all before you get flushed

A place in the hills

 The restaurant sits in a grassy hollow.
Exposed to the sun.
The sun hits each blade of grass.
The grass rises in response.

Absorbing the intensity.
Then speaking up.
With a subtle golden language.
inside bright tips of reflection.

The restaurant is tucked into a clump of tall dense tropical trees.
Providing the sharp catching contrast between the exposed and the shade.
There will be eating and satisfaction there, joyous gatherings
It will be built. 

Carpet stain's in the mansion

 The mansion was for hosting parties
Low ceiling living room 
Few windows
Long colorful sofas

Overfilled with cushions
Still warm from yesterdays party
That finished early this morning
Nothing had any symmetry

The restrooms were like tombs
A sense that anyone attending these parties
Was admitting a certain disdain for their life
The usual cocktail of drugs

With atleast one local surprise
How excess and disaster make such likely brothers
Usually turning up and reeking havoc together
One advising the other to join

By that time the hosts are elsewhere
far from the ambulance sirens
Or the screams of some fabulous drama
Only there at the beginning

To welcome you in like parents
Like obsessed friends guiding you in
Then offering you up to the night
Like a pagan sacrifice

To be a spider of fiber

 The spider's legs unfold and it rises slowly.
It crosses the floor in the quiet of the night.

Under the fridge it goes.
Where other insects sit in hush.

Witnessing it's arrival in terror.
Not willing to move incase it invites an attack.

The spider turns its body looking across the hunched insects.
Partially exposed out of the dust.

It tries to identify a bite size creature.
That would offer little resistance.

The spider registered movement from the back.
There a gecko appeared furious with energy.

The spider turned and crossed the floor.
Back to it's little crevice.

Folded it's legs back into itself.
And asked itself- Why didn't I just weave a web?

The chest

 It was an old tool box
locked up with treasures inside
Padlocks and chains
Thick sheet metal

You can't get inside
Many fine things sit inside
Waiting to see the light of the day
The light of someone's eyes

But the treasure is confined
All the onlooker has is imagination
For whatever's hidden inside
It may just be rusted tools

Not even usable anymore
But rumours are there's gold
Opals and gems
You can't break it open

She is the clothesline

On top of a hill a few miles from the town.

 Exposed long grass uncut like a frowning beard.

 Yellowing from lack of water, droopy strands.

 A tall isolated structure stands, a clothesline.

 Standing like a skeleton in the breeze.

 Empty no clothes hanging on or underneath.

 A human woman stands there in sunshine.

 Naked in the shape of the clothesline.

 The house is oval and also empty Pulsing with magnetic energy.

 Dirty clothes and blankets inside unseen.

  Awaiting a non existent washing machine.

Keep your eyes on the road

 we drove down the curving motorway to the bottom fo the hill.
The beautiful and the unseen screaming at the driver.

Veer left, veer left.

And so he did allowing us to avoid a traffic queue.
I was backwards and needed to turn around.

Turn around, turn around.

And so I did ot atleast I tried to.
The motion of the car itself working against me.

Break, break...

The car slowed to a halt behind the other cars.
I was still struggling to turn around.

Turn around, turn around.

Is that how it goes you get to the end of your road
Still not able to turn it around.

Guess again and fail

 you are supposed to be...

guess and fail...

teach teach teach

write write write

fools gold

You are supposed to reply

To connect for just a while

I'll take a guess give it my best

timid replies endangered smiles

you were supposed to...

I can hear it pouring out of your mind

Just say it to my face

I don't read brail 

or deal well with betrayal

I was supposed to...

Guess and fail again

There, the predictable shut down point

Did I say the wrong word

what was I supposed to say?

why don't I just mess up all over again?

isn't that what you are counting on?

Jennifer the brave

 Ever changing, adapting,

she is lost. Oblivion calls.

The little girl who gave away
every last scrap. Starving to death, upon cold stone.

Waiting for someone
to find her,
save her. The Dearth compounds!

To see her and complement her, convince her she is enough.
If only she could find herself! But she is nowhere...
Oblivion calls. Yet not even oblivion can find her.

Oblivion seeks her, but she is camouflaged so well.
Even diabolical magnifying glasses cannot find her,
for she absconded from a world dull and passive.

Given no permission, no blessing to proceed,
to find herself. Yet a strength now germinates,
growing within.

Dig deep and spit out the stones you swallowed, woman!
Vomit them out. Stand tall!
Offend the world as I do.

Walk out across your existence.
Demand and claim.
Seek no permission. Take it! Be not in the background.

Empower yourself in a world that engineers us to passivity,
to mindless consuming, to becoming quiet and small.
Those things are not you, woman!

So the tears and the loss.
The crying and despair.
Sew it into your words.

Create. Lash out!
Go forward, for no one can save you.
Be Jennifer the brave, eternal, perceptive and true!

Powerless educators

 In the back office pessi-optimistic jerks come gossipers put their mouths to work.
Teachers getting through every angle of a well constructed scandal.
Passing folders, passing the buck, cute little sneakers, never merit, always luck.
Always complaining about the little that lacks.
While you offer nothing your own shit is jack.

When the all hits the fan, you'll wring your hands.
Lament for the victim of the crime, again you grind the great grape vine.
Hypocrite badges and tirades of fury, you are the ideal self appointed jury.
When you are wronged the others should appease, not get off on your suffering unfortunately.

Follow the norms, echo the slogans, echo the quirky quotes, show yawn.
You have no power to impact the world, static as the limpet clinging motherpearl.
So you wield sarcasm, sharpened quips, from blackened teeth, coffee stained lips.

The endless purple night

 The night is purple
Obstacle black
My hands are writing
My instruction slack

The grass is slippery
The bars are wide
Enemies have accumulated
Evil won't subside

I want to be selfless
Like these in neutral
often just helpless
The night is purple

Ufos fill the late evening
Tired eyes on disbelieving face
Police reports are filling themselves out
Some will will attempt to erase me

I want to be selfless to live and speak
Like these dressed as angels
Who persecute the weak
knitting evil into tangles

The servants want to go home
The police won't let me go
So they have to stay
And lock it all up

And I'll be whisked away
it's prison...
It's a prison

The gazelle with kind eyes

 In the protection of your own heart.
You have wounded many.
Some loud and boisterous unruly even.
Some quiet and abiding.

Let yourself not give too much importance.
Like a membrane between you and the outside world.
Don't bother looking into the intentions of a person.
Protect yourself what a destructive world!

Do I blame you for such precautions.
No, if I had any sense I might follow suit.
Instead I put myself in harms way.
Or prepare things thus.

Like a predator on a plain.
We can only take down the careless.
And you aren't careless, you aren't slow.
But I'll watch you. 

I'll be completely bamboozled.
As a lower tier meat eater who is not me.
Devours you in the grass.
Not giving you your just desserts.

To passify the sea

 Nothing comes easy my friend
 Nothing.
 But God is here,
 Or my delusions of God are here,

And they are sweet enough
To passify me through
I am not the good captain
Waves of blasted ocean

knocking crews of sense overboard
All that are left are navigators
with no real control over the boat
subject to the fury of a fickle sea

Kids on bikes

 Two five year old boys joked and tore down the slope
Their screams stung at the top of their lungs
Oncoming traffic brims, coming close to killing them
No lesson learned, no parent concerned

Out they rode again
Him and his cheery friend
On their little bikes
Screaming and the like

challenging fate to take their lives
Not in awe neither in surprise

When the waters recede

 Again there they wait by their boats.
Packing them with everything they'll need.

There's always something missing.
What is missing in you.
in me?

And what exactly are we crossing water for?
Can I replace what is missing?
We never feel ready.

Everything is rented, nothing is owned!
But I need ownership.
I need to exclude some.

Again there they wait packing their bins with food.
All will be gone if it capsizes over the flooded land.
Who am i to question them?

My house floats.
little waves hit my footstep.
Like white lies I tell myself.

Get myself through the day.
They'll get themselves over the deluge lakes.
And moor themselves once again in my vicinity.

Movement even when it appears so redundant is good.
It freshens the mind in this windless flooded land.
And when the waters recede I will plant and build.

And again there they will wait rolling up there belongings.
looking at my dreams and laughing themselves silly.
And I won't tell them they are trapped.

I won't tell them there's something better.
I'll let them cross the waters and seek great nothings.
One day they'll come back and pay tribute.

If they don't drown. 

Chaos is food

 Make your way
There is space in the world
There are roads to take
Curiosities to understand

The world has your kind of food
Chaos you said you consume
You can sustain yourself here
And walk with me your helper

Come through and save the insisters the imposters
Those that force themselves to conflict
They fail themselves miserably
You could tell them to be still

There are so many crazy and sad ones
Lost out here in the noise
In the sleepless nights
Looking for peace wheere there is none

Sometimes peace is not the medicine
Sometimes chaos is food

Lewis lethargic

 The cross eyed dog
A four year old male
sleeps all day
a quiet creature

only barking when someone arrives
then back to sleeping
snoring and cozy nothings
a lazy old

The furr over dresses him
overheating him and dazing him
Life is a slow stumble over to the food bowl
a few laps of the water bowl

A few heavy pants
A shake of the coat
A glance at the owner
And back to the rug

Hell of a reason

 

Punishment is admiration,
Don't admire.
Because of the arrogance,
the need to be humbled.

Because I speak with certainty,
when there is none.

Because I am wishy-washy,
offer no value.
Don't pretend to be stunned.

Because I am narcissistic,
self-involved, ego run,
and deserve abandonment.

Because I am secretly a greedy one
and want the world beneath my thumb.

Because people are so loyal,
yet I dream of treachery.

Because I fantasize about killing,

about being a despot.

Because I can never simply be.

 I ask for more than what I've got.

 I am dirty.

I am worthless.

Tell me.

Such a sluggish piece of shit

 I'm a sluggish man
Look at me move across the pavement
Exhaustion is the only feeling I carry within
every minute a struggle

I creep up on my curb
my joints inflammed in agony
I have not the strength to drag myself to my feet
I am shattered I am crippled 

I crawl for I have no power to walk
I am waiting for that hand
For a crutch or support
How pathetic I look on the road

Laying here on the steet like lame begger
But I'm not Like a begger, I am a begger
And beggers cannot be choosers so i will recieve what they give me
I will be grateful for the sun, the smell of hot tar, the pity in the pedestrians eyes

A smile behind a smile

 The French clerk spoke to me in his language.
I understood the main idea just not he details.
He had perfume and jewelry on sale.
Identfying himself as an expert

The man smiled behind his smile
His form of distilled pride graceful
The original smile in his spirit wiley
reflecting through his polished face

The wooden surfaces grain oh dainty
Posture of the clerk oh so saintly
Romantic notions of tradition
His smile behind the smile

His empty knowingness
Assumptions shined and sheen
He pretended to be humble
All ostentation and vitrines

Post flood survival

 The land is flooded
We have taken to canoes
small boats and floating
What was once underneath is now concealed by water

Your home has become a boat
Yet each person is alone upon their own boat
Following not the one who navigates properly
But the one whose boat is most ostentatious

The water is dark and carries with it the dusts
None may know the depth except for the objects above water
Trees and lamposts that give evidence of roads underneath
But what use are any of those roads now

Our dominion has been reduced to small islands
The land now belongs to the fish

Finding a path

 We lose who we are
In and out of ourselves
Force and vulnerability
What we sell has no value
What we give is close to heart

We lose our map
Life is a basket
Desires those fancy wrapper bars
Filled with chocolate or sweets
Sense of luck

The door opened
Invited we walk inside
But once inside we are lost
My hands don't want to leave the wheel
My foot the pedals

Losing myself
Life is a vase of red wine
Euphorias and hangovers
abundance and addiction
symbols so exhausting

Balance sweet balance
We lose ourselves chasing solutions
That don't change the underlying problem
So we keep walking on a path already paved
Defaced with graffiti like the words confusion

Like the words no direction
Even the trees that line the path
Branches point toward phantom destinies
Not gracefully but awkwardly
Let me just raze it all

Warm myself next to flames
build my own path next to the ashes
Mix it all into the cement
Then start paving until I reach the hill
Where my place will be built.

Narkumfaru a universe of dreams

 I am a shadow in the streetlight at night.
I sought sleep but not a wink in sight.
So I wander the streets, my teeth sensitive.
My tongue dry, movements tentative.

I leap streetlight to streetlight like a stoat.
nothing registers my approach.
I steal traveling bodies and pack them.
bundling them into my sack for dream.

I return to the invisible shelter Narkumfaru.
Counting lost ones like animals in a zoo. 
testing their dreams with curiosity and care.
sewing forbidden places with their nightmares.

behind the invasive bamboo left to grow free.
I witness the old timid spirits greet me.
Distribute the lost ones back into their heads.
Back into their homes and respective beds.

A piece of them mine forever filling a cup.
to galaxies in a new universe I draw up.
To the shape and reality that pleases me.
One where I reign surreal sovereignty.

One where I get a decent night's sleep.

Lifting the morning

 Pain sinks in and the cold does too
Each muscle stubborn and sore
I must lift theres more in store
Lift myself toward life

I ignore the strain
I take my next step to find
I'm leaving my weakness behind
Believing in the reserves

On the steel pushing and pulling
sculpting the body
Despite the pain
Despite the strain

Pushing through difficulty
restoring this strength

Where the brick is exposed

 I sit in the sunday sun light rays.
relaxing my body and mind.
I look up to the big walls of pale gray.
That layer of concrete exposing red brick at random intervals.
There is something aged about this surface.
A single black vulture sits atop as if waiting, not soaking up the sun.
Not searching the open roads for carcasses.
Just at home upon the structure.

A place only shadows know.
A place bird feces have stained.
A place people used to inhabit.
Where the utilities have long been cut.
I stare up at the great structure.
Through dirty glass, moss and shade.
Something flickers, nay something beckons.
My eyes searching for an apparition. 

Into the depths of Thelxinoë

 Into the ocean
Dive right on in
Here beyond the flags where it is not safe
There are currents that will drag you in further

There are undertows
and hidden reefs
There are spiny fish
Looking to get things impaled upon themselves

Out further in the depths there are strange reptiles
That swim through the jungles of sea grass
There is abundant plantlife upon the floor
Growing toward the dim light above

There are thousands of miles of desolate nothingness
where chewed bones protrude from sand
Not a living thing moves here
A otherworldly dead layer of algae covers everything

There are leviathans
That chase and kill out of wrath
Only eating to survive
Never satisfied

Rolling and treading

 Rolling
Choking
seeking
overland

Rolling
sweeping
leaping
Sprinting insanely

Rolling rolling...

Treading
Lifting
Absorbing daylight
Becoming

Brimming
Steaming
Moving
Alive

Treading treading...

Mooi meisie

 South african girl
French descent
Tree fort stone's throw from the house
In the shade of a riverside forest

In the shade of her eyes
Honey in her eyes
Not far from my house
Seemed she cared

The grass would get knee high
So her old man put horses in the field
She would call me to meet her 
Those eyes filled with honey

The oldest austere
The youngest cautious
The middle girl with the honey eyes
Was an adventurer just as I was

She would look at my father as if he was a God
I failed to plant one kiss

The antenna of love

She misses him.
He doesn't know he's wanted.
She can't just approach him afterall.
She doesn't act like that.

She wants to ask him something.
He has no idea what that might be.
She wants him to know something.
Without having to say it.

Distance is strange.
Sometimes it is thousands of miles.
Sometimes mere meters.
Connection is not governed so.

He sometimes thinks of her.
The thought is not treated as a distraction.
The day replete with interruptions.
dizziness and responsibility.

She is shocked to find herself having feelings.
To experience fondness for someone again.
She feels unsafe inside her body.
She seeks psychological shelter.

The dim and the spark

 Two brothers interact on the balcony.
The smarter one talks of purpose and reason.
The simple one said his cup like his heart like his mind was empty.
The smarter one said that one needs a crafted destiny.

Movement and direction thats what he believed.
His simple brother was satisfied enough to follow along.
He never questioned much, reflected, mused, pontificated.
But never questioned, never initiated.

The smarter brother was crippled.
The simple one a drunk.
The smarter brother dreamed dreams that obliged him to stepinto the unknown.
The simple one would resist everything but eventually be convinced.

Flow with the river that was his brother.
Smile easily conjured onto the face.
The simple brother floated.
The smarter one forged.

Yet the simple one in his caution and locked with the present was understood as the intelligent one.
And the smarter who took risks and made huge mistakes was understood to be the dim one.

Bihar Gaya

 My name is Gopal.
I was born in a shanty town.
Some kilometers from the Gaya junction station. Raised on cheap cuts of meat and root vegetables in soups. I may describe my life as hard. It was, but it was also sometimes joyous.
I used to tip toe near my mother's bed at night, just to hear her quiet snore.
Sitting down on her bedside mat. Thinking about what I might have to trade tomorrow.
How I might have to hussle between the train station stalls.
I'd nod off there on that mat, wake shortly before she did. Then go back to my rustic hay mattress bed.
During most days of the year the sun was aggressive. Rain came for weeks during equinoxes. We were forced to collect that rain water in buckets. We would cover the buckets and rationt he water.
In the shanty town we were known a Yadav family, originally cow herders. Of course now merchants. Cow herders hardly existed anymore. However the clothes shop that my mother ran gave us scarcely what we needed.  
I walked through the stalls in the lat monday morning bustle. The sun tyrranical. The blue sky slightly gray with the tinge of pollution. I noticed the tiny holes that had appeared in my shoes this month, a centimeter or so of fat no longer around the bottom of my abdomen.
I looked at the jewelry people were selling on the street.
Candy and gadgets but nothing I could afford. So I picked up the two essential ingredients wheat and sweet potato.

Everyday I made my way through the streets and sea of tarpoulin stalls. Motivated by the thought of my mother selling her clothes, and being able to sleep next to her bed on those lonely nights just to listen to her subtle snore. Whatever came to me beyond that, and many things did

A recorder, a hose and a train station.

 I reached the station after midday
My clothes shredded from navigating brambles
I had the homeless body odor
Though I walked across the pavement shameless

Into the station's paved open market
With mostly closed stalls
The elderly sat waiting for friends
Waiting for dusk

I was listening to my recorder
It told me where to go and what train to wait for
I put it up on the ledge of a closed store
Walking around and listening to its echo

The station suddenly filled up with families
I suddenly felt the need to get back to my recorder
I could feel it coming to its end
I approached the ledge where I had left it

It wasn't there anymore
A mother and her son were standing where it was
I asked them if they would hand it over
The mother feigned offence

Her son who was playing with a water hose, aimed it at me.
I ran and avoided the airborn flow of water
The mother didn't dissuade her son just followed
I couldn't look back to see if she was wearing a grin
 

Swimming inside this mind

 It's bubbling away today
I can't reduce its boiling
Yes my brain alive with molten rocks
The ones that after cooling have myths notched into them

The myths breathe whispers
Which in turn scream truths
someone knocks on the door
Someone with thick skin

Who can swim in the boiling waters
Survive in the heat of my mind
Not be run through by the blades of my perception
But be sculpted by them

To be taken into the undertow
Deeper and deeper
Where unknown things navigate
There do not drown

let the chaos drag you to peace
Like raging questions
That find calm shores of reason
Will you swim inside this mind

Confidence and delusion

 Confidence
I'll put up a wall
Spray paint my every strength
My every quality

I'll never let you see the other side
And you'll accept me
Love me and need me
Deluded

Confidence
I'll exaggerate every achievement
Show you me at my best
Then hide my real self

I'll never let you see me sick or weak
In panic or in pain
I'd hate to interrupt
your delusion

Confidence
I walk with my head up and back straight
I ignore the fear that crawls like a tarantula
Up my spine toward the soft part of my neck

I'll never let you know just how afraid I am
I just show the world how strong I could be
Cloaking so many strange defects to keep you
deluded

Into each other's world

 Looking at the world
Our special preferences
our lacks
Our excesses
The things we think bragworthy

When you hear me speak
When i hear myself
When I feel the urge to convince
Yet I don't buy the argument I'm pushing
So the gas dies down the fire goes out

we agree to disagree
I cannot convert you
looking into your world
Your special preferences
Abundance
Drought

When I hear you speak to me
When I can hear you
I feel the urge to believe you
Yet I don't have any reason to
Besides your dying smile

Imposing desires

 I focus 
Just on my desires
Stung and weighted by ambition
Aloneness manifests like a large shape

I create my doctrine
Strip the world of all irrelevant
And build my reality with the piece I find worthy
Wealth and love flow this way

What is all this effort
Just leave space in my heart
Patience in my mind
Needing growth

Desires overwhelm
ambition drives me past my limit
leaves it's marks on me
it brands the bricks of my construction

Lemes e Lona

 He painted on truck canvas
The soot and wear and tear evident
He dreamed colors onto it

The dust and oil stains embedded
Like life and its traumas
reoccuring nightmares

Desires in a glass bowls
Wild oversweet fruit
euphoric visions

Imagine how far they'd gone
the distances they were carried
Married to the frame

flapping in the wind
between cities
absorbing the rains and sun

Then absorbing all of the keen craftings of art

 from one man's mind and heart

Anticipation and infancy

 He sat on the sofa.
his father came in and placed a wrapped gift into his hands.
He unwrapped it carefully. 
The mother, father and brother's attention stayed on him.
As his expression changed from anticipation to glee.

Feelings overwhelmed the child
An intensity almost uncontainable.
His legs kick up and he jumps off the sofa.
To celebrate in his own rendition of free dancing.
His laughter rising and falling with unrestrained joy.

Awkward yet magic his boots beat the floor.
As he holds the gift up,
as if he recieved the whole universe,
as if some miracle had taken place.
He looks back toward his parents and grins.

The choreograph burden

 The children rehearse for their dance
part of them believes that it will be exciting and rewarding
The other part of themselves dread the stage and the light
Feeling the obligation of their dance teacher and parents

Through the corridors around the atrium
Last minute visits to the bathroom
Checking with each other
Checking with themselves

One follows another into the great hall
ignoring their own shivers and timidness
Finding their spot to stand and wait for the music
Ignoring the eyes from the audience at all costs

The chocolate chip cookie in heat

 The chocolate chip goes soft
getting turned on instead of off
There's heat coming from somewhere
Exchange aspirations and fears

Don't let shame make you a lier
Share dreams and nightmares
Fantasies and unmet desires
There's heat coming from somewhere

The cookie itself absorbs the heat the oven lit
It's softness surrounds the pieces of chocolate
Little dark sweet blobs that are turning liquid
The lips get close the mouth mode enveloping
The teeth above and below gates opening

Is this what comfort is a thought shouts randomly
Is this what sensual teasing gets us another rambles
Is the cookie a metaphor for something one craves
The dough more akin to the mundane
The chips a climax filled and drained

Less than the corner of your eye

 I prefer it when you ignore me
You see me out of the corner of your eye
Don't recognize me
I have no place in your real life

Why allocate me to your purgatory
Let me go ahead and do what I must
I can also play this game
I have become much better at ignoring my admiration for you

I used to attempt conversation
Some valuable exchange
beyond the odd event when eyes awkwardly meet
And we explain it all away in our heads

So allocate me to your oblivion
I come from islands where people live in extreme denial
They would rather fall on swords than admit feelings
I love you, wonder of your smoothness, want to know you

But will rid myself of all limerence
I'd prefer you ignore me
give me less than the corner of your eye
Pretend you don't recognize me

Offend my heart so, because I feel and I love
I'll get over it like I have a hundred times before
You'll never get to feel or experience what I had in store for you
The things so many undervalued, rejecting without knowing before.

What might have a bright beginning will have it's abrupt end
You can go back to lip-syncing the lyrics to a life quite pretend

Evoking emotion erronenously

 The man in his fifties slightly overweight
Had mastered the art of sarcasm
he worked at the turnstyle
selling t shirts and mugs

His desire was to stay in the mind of those who passed by
So he would weight his comments
Partially from his observations of the person
Partially from his own erroneous beliefs about life

with each creak of the turnstyle another member would exit
or enter
And there he would go running his mouth
Trying to elicit an emotional response

But noone bought the mug
Noone bought the tshirt
And most would nod dismissingly
Robbing him of his delight

For when the face of the person turned
With a hint of worry or shame
The slightly overweight fifty year old
Would beam as if he had acquired the world over

Life's corridor of random places

 Skating down the corridor
Legs buck wildly to propel
Over soft carpet
the reduction of speed

Such a busy corridor
Call it life
Some lost 
Just walking in circles

others walking in a given direction
With a focal point
A sense of anticipation on their face
Some whose footsteps are muffled by carpet

others whose footsteps tap loudly
windows on one side
Showing the things people want on the other side
But may not actually have

Life's corridor seems random
Some closer to the end
Others wander near the beginning
Yet their evolution seems to have nothing to do with their place