They tell me to be polite
and not to write about
the monsters that we might
encounter through the night..
..okay

everything is lovey dovey
there are no succubi
I wonder now why I
ever thought there was.

She says,
that's so much nicer
but She would.

I am bound to her by
the chains of my heart

jeez
I do got a heart?

seems so
and She should know,
but She
wanders off
to sleep
I suspect,

but then
I always do.

Even when you're looking
you might never see it coming.

There's a law, it might be Murphy's
but I know it's on the books
because I saw it in the minutes
before the hour of twelve.

I'm only trying to keep my mind on
that thing I might not see
and just as suddenly, it's gone.

Nothing to write home about
it happens now and then
so I'll save my Indian Ink
and poke my eyes out with the pen.

It's Tuesday as expected
and
unexploded as of yet.

Sirens
twenty floors below,
sound travels
don't you know

I knew
but
I always did.

The Government robbing us
banks are fobbing us off
where is that man of the cloth
when will the miracle come
who has the key to the cellar door
and why lock away the ***?

Oh
vote us in
and
they said you'll all be quids in
but we won't get a look in
until the cupboard's bare.

Despair
sounds very out there
wailing by the wall
and there's always something else to see
when you think you've seen it all.

No man is an Alcatraz is what Donne should have said
we think we're self sufficient but we're locked inside our head
and the tide of time will drown out rhyme
plotting course and to be led
halfway around the seven seas
to a
dead reckoning in bed.

The way the light bounced up from the whitestone sill, the idea that the coming of dawn could beat the dust from carpets hung over a thousand gossip-worn garden fences, and boiled tea that we drank from old tin pongers,

aye
the last of the last of us are almost at the terminus.

Things we remember
just
junk in the kitchen drawers of our minds.

Listen
you can't win everything, but that shouldn't stop you from trying and if you're now trying to stop crying because you didn't win,
join the club .
go down the pub
and sink a few and by a few
I don't mean battleships.

I win some and lose some
and that sends me into a blue..
..oh! who
am I trying to kid?
I am a kid and if I lose it's only a hiccup
on the way up to winning.

You no longer believe in the media
because you know that they have all lied to you
and word of mouth cannot be relied upon
so
what to do if you want something new
untainted
vaccinated or unvaccinated?

and this is what I've waited for
since nineteen fifty-six?

thank god it wasn't fifty-four
or
you might have thought
that this was a poem.

No one wants to talk about those things that no one talks about.

The open society is closed until further notice, and here we are, wide awake, wondering why there's such an overwhelming ache that never seems to go away.