the old man that lives
in my head...
woke up today and said....

nuthin new under the sun.
at sometime son,
we all be...
fakers,
takers,
******, muck rakers.

if you think,
you above that.
then...
you must be livin,
in a window-less,
glasshouse,  son.

sitting  on,
stoneless ground
and smilin...
cause you just don't know,
how downright, dumb,
you be.....

take it from me...
we all born into sin
and we all sometimes,
still like to put
a toe tip in
and swirl it all around....

see what can be stirred
up
see what can be found...

it's what we do with that
slime
that makes a man, gentlefolk
or street-grime......

The world needs more lovers
With rose colored glasses
Forever worn
With glass hearts
And stoneless hands
With roses growing
Down their spines
And stardust
Coating their lungs
The world needs more dreamers
With centuries in their cells
And galaxies in their bones
With fiery passion
Boiling their blood
With trembling voices
And wonder in their eyes
With music in their souls
And freedom on their minds
The world needs more you's
Who are more than a number
And are wildly outspoken
Who have an insatiable lust
For knowledge
Who love endlessly
And dream all day
Who search for the beautiful things
Only our hearts can see

I should eat
a cake to celebrate my victories
over inherited Goliaths.
Instead my face is gaunt,
stoneless and lacking heroism,
while my mind starves for nutrients

I should eat.
Because this was my dream,
a house no one can enter
filled with unshared favorites.
I stare into the stove
yearning to climb in and sleep

I should eat.
To stop the searing in my chest
the quaking of my hands
the static in my ears
as I stare into the stove
yearning to climb in and sleep.

I should eat.
How long have I been here?
Shoulder bruised on linoleum,
cooling as I lie here
staring into the stove
yearning to climb in and sleep

Born free of sin in this stoneless land,
I’m forced to love people I can’t.
To make up for it, I crucify myself each night,

Struck by the flail of my own mind.
Pierced by the spear of my own lies,
Hammering the nails to the beat of my own heart.

I look up at that deep black sky,
But He is nowhere to be found.
Was I sent here just to die?

McKenzie sat, the feral cat
a ginger tom, a ***** brat,
he’s on the slab, he's at the vet,
he's innocent of the threat;
as scalpel steel –prepares to lop
his precious assets – for the chop.

He smirks and thinks of bowls of cream.
An instrument now stops his dream
while measuring his body’s heat:
a gross insult to his seat
that turns his grin into a pout
as he pushes the probe out.

This wicked cat – who seems serene,
his outward visage  looks so clean
external dirt can never stick,
but succumbing to his lick
it passes through that moggy’s gut
and out of an unblemished ****.

The player fears the game is up
he sees the proffered poisoned cup,
now he's exposed: the ***** rat.
Dies Irae for that cat –
the stoneless subject of our mirth –
as ball-less he departs the Earth.

Tomorrow I shall go to the beach
And begin to throw each stone,
Pebble and rock back
Into the sea,

But I shall deprive the lonely conch
And the bundles of seaweed,
They shall stay on this
Stoneless coast,

And I shall sweep the snow
Back into the clouds and
Cut the mountains
Down into the ground,

I shall unsow the forests and
Consume the leftover seeds
And perhaps if you let me, I
Will persuade the bees
To disperse,

I shall do all this,
All this ******, out
Of fear
Of the universe.

Am I heard ?
Am I heard ?