“Oh something that’s as dropped on the ground”

You know what it isn’t: valuable.

You know what it isn’t: a loved one

You know what it isn’t: the answer to our problems

“Better pick it up”

The body

Give me a hand, so I might shake it. Lend me your ears, so I might bend them. Nod for ‘yes’, and shake for ‘no’, lose it for ‘maybe’.

What is a brain, without a heart?

What is a heart without a brain?

Don’t be silly, hearts don’t think!

What a bloody pain.


A hopeful future’s day is bright-
Mourning mother’s fading light.
The time and fates take you above.
But still my heart warms, from your love.
Time and time, and time again,
You cared for us; simple and plain.
Sacrifice and woe and toil-
Rain and dust, earth and soil.
I sing your song, a silent sigh.
A mournful hope of wishing whys.


Washing away the weekend. Soaking in a bath. Warm and relaxed. Reading, and trying to think through a mental fog. Meaning landing flatly. Rounding the globe’s slippery horizon. Wheels snapping down, rubber wheels find a stone ground as desolate colossal feelings radiate through the windows. Completely out of sync with the unnatural marble of our collective expressions.

Planned hopscotch foils us. The many bent and sick. Minds and hearts, respectively. Wrong door, dickhead.

Watch your six

I saw my friend walking along.

I was a friend walking along.

I told him watch your six

I checked my watch

He looked at his watch

‘No. Look out behind you,’ he said with a peevish tone.

‘Ooops!’ I said, dropping his coffee.


Experience traction,

Our busted faction

I won’t bend, your heart will mend

I won’t flex, your shallow sex

I won’t stay, your holiday

I won’t fight; four-your dull light

Pardon my reaction,

But where is OUR attraction.

Your lies are poverty

Your truths are pain

If love’s a lottery

It’s a numbers game.

I’ve counted

I’ve considered,

I’ve decided

I’ve delivered,

It’s a bastard

It’s a bitch

It’s a daily

It’s a ditch

Here’s an apple

There’s a pear

Here’s to memories

There’s my share.

Rolling down, the slippery bank.

Self defucktion; file and rank.

Life was not, no honey dew.

No fucking-kidding-that was you.

It’s over now, time will pass

Looking through a looking glass.

Hoping what could possibly be-

A patchwork makeshift version me.

Fractures and reflections

Guilt and regret-

Questions and inflections.

On your marks, get set.

All you say and all you said

Failing tests and breaking bread.

Tectonic plates, will move apart.

An existential place, for us, to start.