i see, in the black
studio cave of creativity.....

gangling, disinterested youth.
metamorph...
into mecurial, liquid madness...

fluid, upon the stage,
they fly, toward the lights.
moths, to a burning moon.

momentary flashes,
of. god's humour,
in flight across
the mechanical sun's
gelled brightness.

and then the curtain falls.
and they drift back,
into their former selves,
inarticalate, but secretly
smiling.

unfettered thoughts
               scattered like spilt
       coin on slippery cobbles brass, silver,and gold
                     all lie gleaming
on the steaming
               .... . ....stone.

                        small thoughts
and large
spent along the way
                 these here,now,
are the dross
        and dreck of the day.

          one by one,
                   regained and
  pocketed,
         so gently,
                    put away,
                              at rest,
                                      at last,      
                weary mind,
              and tired bone.
            all thoughts now,
                    neatly
                 tucked up
           inside of my head.

i have said,
goodbye to you
a thousand times, plus more
in both, small moments
and big.
when i turn,
to see your face
and then, remember you are no longer
so with smile, and a tear,
i  once again,
bid you goodbye.

it is now nigh,
on three years,
i have been saying
farewell.
all that time,
desperately missing you.
wishing i was,
saying,
hello, instead.


but the sad truth is,

dead is dead.

au revoir, dearheart

yet again.

Is it your face
that adorns the garden?

Is it your fragrance
that intoxicates this garden?

Is it your spirit
that has made this brook
a river of wine?



Hundreds have looked for you
and died searching
in this garden
where you hide behind the scenes.



But this pain is not for those
who come as lovers.

You are easy to find here.

You are in the breeze
and in this river of wine.

bloodstains on my hands say
countless times have wounded her
yet she loves me to this day
weeps on my shoulder!*

You don't remind me woman
each time I stroke your hair
of the times I act a hurting man
of all the times I've been unfair.

Rather you hide all past scars
cover up my stinging bite
pretend things could be worse
thank god it turned all right.

You don't remind me woman
when I hug you tight
of the times I act a hurting man
bare to you unmanly might.

Rather you hide the flicker of pain
smile away my sins of past
pretend things would be same again
thank god in me you trust.