a green screen,
the imaged voice
in my head.

all is
but
what it is.

and when
spring comes,
wounded trees
bear a blossom
in their own blood.

One day Dostoyevsk talked to me in dreams.
In my early teens, way before the time of my life.
A stripling adolescent,
misspent juvenile youth.
I sat on the roof of the bakery,
reading The Devils.
Over and over again,
until it started to make sense.

Before Kierkegaard,
I found life hard,
no meaning, no dreams came true.
Quantified in my mind,
applied to doctrinal differences I found within,
authenticating the delusions and disorientation of this absurd world we live in.

It all Sartre(d) with being and nothingness.
A cultural movement brought to public providence.
Ominously before I was born,
but I was still torn between being,
and nothingness,
like everyone else.
Distinguishing secular humanism,
rejecting pseudoscience,
apparently.

Now the Blade run’s across my skin.
Married to the cause,
with the force like Harrison,
can you appreciate the retort of
my existential crisis.
We could get lost in the Matrix,
in the “necessary absurdity of the human condition and the horror war”
Like Kubrick.

There’s beautiful new tricks I use to wake up each morning and go about my personal piece of silver screen.

one last prose
for the road,
shrouded
with
Rosebush regrets,
compunction and shame,
of
anguish and pain,
knowing things can never,
quite
be the same as they were,
yesterday.
In prickly heat,
sweaty, sweet, benediction.
My demuric affliction,
masks and veils addiction.
Stifled in harbours
of
resentments first tooth.

Who knew,
the crow flew in a
beeline.
Stinging' it’s way amongst the vagaries.
The geodesic distance,
hides in the light,
but
the road,
      bends,
  and
     throws those
curveballs
       I swerved,
around them all,
as,
I’m not ready to fall for you;
petal.
With my foot on the metal,
I took the road for granted.
Granted,
I should of known better than a
kiss from a rose.

The abstract acrobat

How you going to catch me with those tiny arms,
tiny dancer,
i don’t mean you no harm.

Those words you said went over my head,
and who needs a safety net when your safe in my arms.

Swing with me bambino,
i’m a monkey at best,
an ape at my worst,
I’m not sure what you expect.

Pirouette on those tiptoes that keep your feet on the ground,
It’s futile to get high if we never come down.

You heard me before,
purgatory flaws,
emerging to the sound of applause,

Those circus circumstances,
freak show romances,
We take chances beneath those bright lights.
Each and every night,
we take chances beneath those bright lights,

To the delight of the crowds.

Lisbon you look beautiful to me.

Miles high -
the first time I seen your city pretty.

Beneath my feet capture me when I land on you for the first time through turbulence and gin soaked T shirt.

Seeping through to my skin.

The deep sea spoke to the infrastructure,
we landed in harmony with a disruptive aftermath.

The stony paths lead back to those off beat tracks,
as we bask in the heat of the sun.

The world is an empty place
Full of times

And what is so great
About all of it anyway

I am dull
And without desire

No woman to hold
To comfort me
Or care

No woman
To say "there there"

Kind women

Are everywhere

I love their beautiful smiles
And beautiful eyes

One day I hope to meet
A female friend

And pleasure her
Between her thighs

I can take a breath
but can't live my life
I am confused I am dead or alive

I have lots of things to do
will you please give some rest
I am now too tired
will you please clean up my bed

I want to see the moon
the clouds are dark
now its going to rain
can I now see it clear

I have lots of dream
will you please give me prefect night
I need to see my dreams
will you please make me alive

There is a woman
Named Sumina
Who is from Kathmandu

Hope you have a good day
Your poetry is beautiful
And so are you