drink responsibly,
i.e. make sure you cook dinner,
tidy up the house,
feed the cats,
wash yourself;
remotely sober.

Every bad has some good in it
like silver line round the cloud
a bad isn't bad every bit
has something to make feel proud.

One night on a rainy day
out on my aimless roam
saw a koi that lost its way
caught it and brought it home.

In a bucket it lived two years
no way I would ever regret that
had I on that day chosen to stay clear
it would have been taken by a cat.

Once she bought a bird cheap
back home we soon found out
surely it wasn't a prized keep
was lame in one leg no doubt.

But be sure we chose not at all a wrong
the foot though not cured healed a lot
the budgie would not have lasted long
had its lameness prevented to be bought.

the thought of you dosnt always feel like my chest is breaking open
just like the morning after a night of vices
I smoke a cigarette and say im better than I was yesterday
and you're still a sepulcher of all things Ive learned to hate in a human

The insidious wrath of age has pilfered her beauty ..
Rusted chains hang in quietude , wrenched in dubious functionality ....
Superfluous stockyards , fencing long in need of repairs ..
Barns that once bustled with the drudgery of agriculture can only whisper ..
Wind chimes trill in the cold afternoon , the crack of the hammer to the anvil gone ..
Tractor implements lie frozen , a lone Crow stands guard over barren orchards* ..

My Cousin Frank once
Came to spend a weekend
With the family at a state park,
He came with bongs
And a habitual prestige of
*** smoking.

He would light a ****
In hiding but would
Not blot out the smell
As a show for his pride
As a smoker.

      I was a here and there
Kinda smoker, couldn't roll
To save my life or the last
Of the bag, but amidst the late
Night drinking in the gallery
Of faces round the fire,
Came my time to take a few hits.

( I began a soliloquy of morbidly humorous
Topics which no one thought was funny)
As midnight hour came, Cousin Frank
Came to the unpopular guy who
Couldn't handle his smoke.
He lit another and began
A soliloquy of his own,
Rather I think I just spaced out.

     He went to bed and I stayed
Wondering about apples and grapes,
In the starlit terrace of the infinite
Possibility of fruits,
Thankful Frank had brought
Such philosophical ****.

you invite me to feel the permeation of the air thats
electrically stagnant between us

three 8.5% oranjeboom does that to you,
in between several whiskeys,
you end up derailed somewhere in the mind,
you end up writing really crazy ****,
but of course in relation to past experiences,
being told to dig up baby potatoes
in an allotment patch filled with weeds,
taking some home on the sly,
while watching “here by the grace of god”,
ok honey, just say it, retards, on a day-trip,
drooling, taking out their genitalia and laughing
being herded like cattle by the carers
because their parents have died, the ones
with down syndrome
being the most intelligent of the lot,
a little spark in them still there -
because you weren’t the one who’s intelligence
was insulted and told that this is
adequate psychiatric therapy -
but indeed it is, here in england, perhaps
not as bad as the great american pharmaphilia
(excessive pharmacological prescription;
will the big buck ever buckle? who knows:
but i do know that your brain will end up
being a surgical insult to the professions
of psychology: spongy goo tomato purée).