You were my rock
my shoulder boulder
eroded over time by mental health
that crept into the room by stealth
but remember all we talked about
you were the foundation
the building blocks
the "we can do this".

Navigate the spell of despair
bear the insignia with pride
dispel and expel the mental scars to bare
we were a team dude
you were my rock in the storm
we were shorn from the same cloth
you and I.

Never ones to shelter from the thunderstorm
arms outwards, dancing in hedonistic pleasure
revel in the present and like Leftfield said:
Release The Pressure.

We were Gods mate, legends in our own time
I am left to decipher why man why
you felt so alone you couldn't reach out
to family, to a friend and have a good cry;
I would've held you mate
like you held me that day.

I had a call from an unknown number
I picked it up in random wonder
to be told your body was found this morning
attached to a home-made rope
feet in shadow by your painted awning
utterly gutted
my brain waves disrupted
that my Sifu, my Teacher, My Friend
life was suddenly spent.

I just sent a letter of poems
for you to read with my consent.

I feel lost.
I feel broken.
The demons we talked about
I've kept them in control
now out of control
the devils have awoken.

You were my friend
like a brother
from another mother

I am left to wonder
where are you now
but know now that your pain has ceased
there will always be a jigsaw piece
of the blue sky missing;
go with God my friend
and forever rest in peace.

Head and Shoulders, knees and toes

That's the way the story goes

Here is something no one knows

To lepers...it's important

It's the inventory song

You may think that this is wrong

Put me back where I belong

But, lepers need to do this

Count your digits 'fore you leave

It's a fact you must believe

They're not out for to deceive

They need to inventory

If they count and all is there

They face the world without a care

They lose their parts, but not their hair

Their day will be successful

Head and Shoulders, Knees and toes

That's the way the old song goes

I've got four fingers and six toes

I guess I'll put some gloves on

The inventory song is neat

It teaches them, they need two feet

Or they can't walk down the street

It really is important

Gripping things is kind of tough

When digits...you've not enough

You know your fingers' with your stuff

You'll go and find it later

So, if you think that  this is wrong

And you do not like this song

Put me back where I belong

I think this song's a service

Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes

I've a friend with half a nose

Now you know what no one knows

Inventory is required.
.

There is no place that memory will not follow,
no feast now to sate thy appetite
no long embrace to give voice to feeling.

What remains is lifeless and hollow
the scant skeletons of desire.

The demons left to wander
reeling in the crimson night
lost in thy aimless gaze.

Do not pity me my friend
time is not on your side,
I shall endeavour to recall your face,
fight the fires of hazy change.

Left nothing but forgotten dreams
and the darkening of lost days.

Beneath the cities phantoms
lie the beating heart of good people;
reaching outwards from shadow.

In the dying moonlight
an out of tune piano plays its last note;
warped by water over time.

In the close darkness
faces fade emitting anguish;
I wish I could find the missing piece.

That one remaining jigsaw
the puzzle would be complete;
and in it, I would be whole.

One last time.

Feel breath upon milky neck
give yourself
the sacrifice
for unchained paradise
and the gifts of life.

Thrusting forth upon such shapely form
the rise of golden **** and the
glide of swollen *******
such feline majesty
such magnificence of deviance.

Lay hands on nubile skin
deft and swift precision
straddled in muscular passion
the reins like a flowing mane
gracing the arched spine in pleasure.

Tilted head stretched
exposed form
catching dancing shadows
in the eternal midnight.

Call my name
as if a name
were a pulse wave
of unreserved expletives.

The chastity of yesterday
innocence lost in devilry
offered freely
like a gift to the gods
empower revelry
chemically.

****** Deeper
Give Give Give
again and again and again and again and again and again and...

No refrain
awash in pagan sweat
doused and dripping wet
revel in cobalt aquas
close in the rise
of final exaltation
the Alpha stanza.

BOP/bop BOP/bop
hearts beat out of time
heaving breath
encased in bone and heated skin
consumed in the juices of forever
and the pleasure of
pagan archaic sin.

I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.

Your skin is tight,
Your eyes are bright,
And yet
You loose your teeth at night.

I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.

You don't walk
With a cane,
Wear a diaper,
Or leave a stain;
Usually you
Recall my name.
But then you have
Some nose hair
Like late September grain.

I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.

You don't wear knee-highs
In Bermuda shorts,
Your moles are hairless,
You hide your warts,
Yet you don't play
Outside sports.

I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.

Your hair's not blue,
Your ears are hairless;
There's things about you
That seem ageless.

I don't know how old you are,
But you don't look your age.

You swagger like an actor
On a curtain call;
It's hard to gauge
The age you wear
Since your overhaul.

I don't know the half of it,
But you don't look your age.

I would see words forged into action
by these hands of broken memory,
memory that still haunts the darkest nights.

The barren tongue of sparse reaction
concealed in cocoons of silenced delight
decorated in jeopardy and lethargy.

The ramblings of an assumed madman
spent wandering these unforgotten years
comforted only by the monastic echoes of ashram
left to deliver his final illuminated message
unto the radiance of waiting ears.

The days have been long,
hastened by the majesty of moonlight
perishing in cirrus cloud formation.

Like the nightmares of crippled machination
and sheathed divinity more man than hallow.

Caressed by warmth of the morning sun
and in it a song for every fleeting shadow.

And this was the message:

Like all beautiful things:

We.
Must.
Fade.

Aural sounds of delectation
funk-fuel in fervent distillation
undertones of jazz-swing in migration
electronic clicks and blips for relaxation
ambience is my one true occupation.

The resonance of sound in rotation
the initiation itself a radiation
morphological alternation in isolation
as the hubbub of voices echo respiration
breath in, breath out, in elevation.

No underlying obligation, only inspiration
and celebration of collaboration
revel in the pleasures of sensation
like the first discovery of amplification
and in its appreciation and stimulation
embrace variation in all its illumination.

Seek out new music from recommendation
the gravitation towards transformation
the re-education and regeneration
this musical manifestation of civilisation
saturated in complex contemplation
adoration in meditation
the simplest form of gratification
the creative urge for diversification
and technological intensity
of electronic experimentation.