Small Talk

Today my eyes were opened wideI took it all and I bled inside.
Your hands seemed to push me down

I’ll step back and look around, look around
Feeling strong for a moment
Then the walls break and water rises.

(Singular, and multiple, the bakers dozen.
Nonsense dipped in no cents, 
dime a dozen words put on top. 
Sprinkle on conformity and you have
Small talk.

Poetic, disconnected, eccentric and
Passive. Innocent, heaven sent, massive.
Cardiac arrest smile, let your fangs sink deep.
Peaches and cream eyes, depths with your
Death in the overhang.)

So give me your hand
I will draw you out like
Wire through it’s length.
No faster, no slower,
No movement but it’s own.

Yours to keep, and mine to weep
Is innocence and poise.

Mourning After

It rained

  As we walked

  Slowly beside 

  The casket

Shoulders burning

  With weight

  Of regret and

  Dead promises

As the shovel


  Filth over a

  Good life

I lowered

  My eyes to

  Hide from tears

  On your cheeks

We spoke

  In hushed tones

  As if respect

  Came quietly

Going our

  Separate ways


  Time heals


  At the hope

  It carried

  Close to its chest

Razor’s Edge

We walked along the razor’s edge,

Practiced patience till our feet bled

Wrapping them up, every night

Walking the walk, so as not to fight

But as we bled, a numbness grew

Hollowed us out, through ‘n’ through

Till one day we fell, from a razor’s edge

Into darkness, past moralities pledge.

We fell and fell, into a pit all black

Built with concrete, lies, all we lack

Struggled to climb, grew weak, pale

We nearly pierced the mortal veil

We’re down here still, deathly white

To see us now, be quite a fright

So as you walk, the razor’s edge

Remember us, chase no revenge.


Sing me a song of vict’ry,

Putting my name beside greats.        

Believing my chance predestined,

Only furthers my win elate.            

Brave will I be, my lover,        

Ever strong, kind, always true.    

And when I come home war-scarred,

Shall I only draw love, for you. 




   She sang


   Painting her

   Lips with



   Eyes in a

   Window looking

   To a 


   Sunday night


   In a 


   Linen suit


   Tip toe

As the

   crowd moved

   From us

   Visceral and



You whispered

   A lonely


   Highlighted by


   Flames climbing


   In chaos

   And passion


   Died and turned



   We demanded


   Responded as

   Is want to, so

   Colour left.

The Fountain

Sitting dry

The fountain waits to be filled again

Dust collects

Distorting the memory of growth

Days pass

As lips crack and bleed for want

Slowly fall

Ravens of death and despair circle

No relief

Nothing to quench the ache inside

Flawed vision

Believing it all comes around 

Looking up

Waiting on the storm to fall with wrath

Clouds shudder

Darkness gathers at the horizon

Hands rise

Ready to accept whats assumed


Sweeter than the fated failure of karma

Let down

Passing by with a whisper of power


With a fountain waiting to be filled again