Sitting in a glass house no stones to throw,

only the coin of culture to flip and feel land,

let you sign up to the side of yes or no with the water now wading against –

time to take the coin and toss on the pile of fallen fingers,

sick of left or right I want up and a-gone -



I’m going to join the dust and swirl across lands swollen with love and loss

to take it all in and never let out,

never left empty on the corner of existence -

just staring out through wet window of broken-down-bus destination:

nowherewhocares -

‘cos I’m a pale imitation of a real life lived,

snared in the soon or sundered but ignoring the sure that’s happening right now -

mind warped through the fibre optic droplets streaming to somewhere better,

the grass no longer greener for grass is no more,

asphalt streaked white with long-lost lines of a map never drawn.


Should’ve left my sadness behind at nine with that gruff-grazed knee,

instead you let it coil around all others

‘til all that’s left is you and it and it and you,

who really is nil so just it alone,

your wishes more wanton than one could imagine -

but never did -

so open ear to the beatbeatbeat in the head not heart

for the heart stopped long ago,

not broken but bowled out and left a chasm strung across by a few sinews

attempting to string together and play a tune,

failing of course for they said it’d be par three for me -

but it’s working out ZERO for all,

windmill sending back ball between legs,

leaving me STUMPED and SLUMPED on the kitchen floor,

bottle above jaw aimed to the stars in a search for direction but nothing to see ever since my inception:


yep nothing ‘cept this no one reflection.

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Image created from a custom stamp and blackberry juice.