No less angry now than if a tomorrow never came

losing the plot
only to find
I was not in
the game

**** the blame
I take it on the chin

you
don't let me in
you
are keeping me down
you
blew away my house
in an industrial town
and
what the ****
have we got anymore?

Service industries that only serve industries.

Where does it end?
Is life just the sub-plot
for the ways I must mend?

How long to keep praying
keep paying
keep saying,
I'm sorry?


Dead on my feet,
but there are things
I must do
people to meet
and find the *******
who killed my street
in an industrial
town.

less angry now and I'm down with it
realising this world is full of ****
time to do my own little bit
in this stinking rotten mess.

He changes his socks
but never the muse
and
wonders what's the use,

in time when the stream
reaches its destination.

He never fixates
he
always deliberates
slowly.

Things will be
they always are.

I leave well enough alone,
even in marriage
sometimes
it's good to be on your own.

There is here a limited access
no entry,
do you have a pass?

Go
be things as they are,
better by far that you know
what will be.

I walk these streets,
of which, I don't belong
Ever carrying the scent of
Death,
and vintage whisky
A visceral and demented
MayBerry hell
Still,
It is here, in which I dwell
Everyone plays their part,
Pays their bills
Me?
A mere ghost
haunting these wooded hills
A house,
I possess  
Home,
I lack
I wander
Alone
I belong no where
Everywhere
Just not here
And so.....

I wander
And belong to no one
A wanderess.......

~A

We're sand, you know
Slipping through splayed fingers
Our hearts,
Are but ash filled bubbles
Carried upon the lilac,
rough winds of May
Blown by peach faced children
Sensitive to the human touch
Grasped too hard,
And a poets heart
Will burst
Should we fall,
As we so often do
We can't be caught
Promiscuous in our words
Faithful, in our dreams
We,
Ash filled bubbles
Eternally in May and lilac~A

Friday is an old day now
Where black and blue skies meet
Where the same people walk -
the same potholed streets
Intrigue in the afternoon breeze
Barbecued meat , perfumed ladies ,
the flowers of Spring , the wild onions of
the field , warm meals
Fridays rolling up the streets
The same old cars , the same urban
scenes* ...

lost in the darkness of your missing
I watch the stars wink as if it's all ok
endless seconds drawl by
lethargic, spiritless
a complete antithesis to my eager waiting
the door  does not herald your lively eyes
that hand does not warmly reach for me
that warmth does not envelop me

the soul that sustains me
calls my eyes up to the heavens
a genltle reminder that you are waiting
I wait the endless seconds in unpassed time
thankful at least, there are enough stars