i took stock
in the shock
of this dream
waiting patiently
for the violence to end

nothing to say today
decadence and simplicity
stripped me of individuality
sitting here with a grey gut
one door opened
and another shut

soaring over rivers shallow
with rocks and weeds
under a blood red moon, full in bloom
and biting the hand that feeds

sometimes
life is like
looking in a mirror
everything comes round
full circle

awoken with no words spoken
i feel like slow death
on a saturday afternoon

severing ties that bind
sidelined
and undefined
in this perfect illusion

it’s lack of communication
that’ll kill a good man
and lack of passion
that’ll kill a bad one

perhaps fate just conspired against us

walking down the avenue
to the corner of distance and
persistence road
no two angels are alike

wandering bazaar
showering wine
over a heavy scar
there’s just something in the air today
yet none of us seek to oppose
poetry’s disposable prose

the engine just won’t turn
and i’ve spent too much currency
in love to burn

this new style is
almost as uncomfortable
as the old style
familiar habits
creep like a cat in heat
i fight them
like a man fights a woman he loves
passively, reluctantly

i want to dance again
no more quiet
no more toys
just a sudden blur
of uneventful noise

with the word as with love
sometimes you have to write
a lot of bad ones
to write a good one