Born high and mighty, a Troy
Now but a broken toy
With no one left to cry
No matter how hard the try
From hero to zero
He has but become a Broken Hero.

I opened your liquid dawn with my ring finger
drips plumed from bigger steam puffs;
I licked your crema, listened
to the ripped plush whispers
but there was nobody there, thus
I was left with a leaf’s wine:
you left
every French pressed forest murmur
here’s Kintaro bowing to your kimono
here’s an obi, wandering
the fields of the carcass savannah
countless rice paddies, falling,
gently,
into an ocean of your mouth –
the texture of bean grinds
like my stubble on your supple lips.

On a darkly shadowed tarmac
with a night color to match
and a brisk-like chill that tenses up my hair,

my shadow's dallying behind me
then at times, way up ahead
attempting, quite on purpose to give myself a "scare".

Off in the dim lit distance
towards the direction of night's breeze
muted sounds I can't decipher tend to drone,

I'm uneasy with the quiet
indignation in night's eyes
and the way it makes me feel I'm not alone.

I first came here in middle fall
a hidden place in the dark pines
when hunter's instinct came to call
and led me 'mongst the wild and vines

Along a road near disappeared
shoulders slumped and crown eroded
and homeplace where old shade trees reared
tall but of leaves then unloaded

The home and barn both fallen down
with piers and chimney slowly crumbling
miles and miles from nearest town
or highway's distant diesel's rumbling

What tragedy. What monstrosity
Has granted to us this lifeless breath
We are the unwanted stars
Cast out of the skies and out of their eyes
Our beauty, they hindered
And in blazing speed, we burnt down
And like fallen embers, we cindered
Into stardust; zilch, like the dusts of the earth

Calamity; monstrous conception
Born we are into this vast emptiness
This world wild with nothingness
To relish and to witness
Our birth as a curse

Let's dwell in the mystic land,
where birds and humans,
fly hand in hand
across the vast sojourns,
of deserted life.

An occasional gleeful vision of the crowd,
electrified;
does not necessarily constitute crazy.
"Touched a bit I spect"
whispered the reflection.

Sort some parcel into a mail bag
Place the slip in a wrong box
Somebody somewhere somehow suffers
Count the cost on consumables
And the toll on time bad supplies

The counter hand for box entries
Offers services to the public
With absent mindedness
Testifying to the emptiness
A sorry state of our system

Dead sentence pronounced
On the National Postal service
Still struggling to survive
With middling personnel
In an age of electronic mails

The theatre has men who like to pretend
Some force themselves to crack funny short jokes
Others are natural in what they do
I stepped in pretending to be a wolf
An unknown Tiger came to eat me up

we cleansed the wound
bacardi rum
sulpher powder from an old ambulance kit

cheering you danced
dousing your arms those
slender strong hands
mottled with freckles

and I passed out
vomiting on the table
when you pushed and hauled
taut the fifth stitch

waking from dreams
that boathouse
the sunken Chriscraft

"Fucking wake up!!" you
slapped me hard your tits
swinging..threw up again
(Im no big fan of Morphine)