Jails in Suburbs

In the shit of a whole life, you are fine enough. Temptation to get a bazooka and roam the streets popping off narcissists seems a dream that will never happen. Really what its gonna take is actually hard work, on yourself.

There are three powers, forces, working at you. You gotta stay cool, stick clear of trouble, no one is that tough alone. Some men can’t sleep alone, drink alone, write alone. Some need someone for something always. You don’t need to need anyone really, you are actually able to be alone.

See out there people are working hard, but for who? Dragging boxes around, packing containers, for you. It ain’t even money that you really need, not really. It is a lot more than money, you need a solution. An answer to how to accept your place on earth, your predicament. How you can enjoy reality.

So you may get drunk huh? To ease the pain? To de-stress? Never sober long you’ll miss something. Never alone you’ll miss something too. You can’t face it, just a wall or four. You can’t be happy like that, locked away. That is your weakness, you get nothing done. You need to find yourself, in words.

Godness Gracious Me?


This cigarette needs a platform, like a cross that needs ending. The rabbit can style a dig forward without it and so can I. Imagine books filled with thoughts, heard of them yet? The latest fad to read the tales of someone years ago is ending with people writing eyes of now. You can see yourself like a closing box just wasting your story. Look back on reality in its fast car driving away.

Sexually you are a monsterous sperm just flabber. What male can take their dick seriously next to a giant fish. You wish don’t you that you had something to offer a woman. You probably even think they fancy you. Let us face reality and it is harsher than you realise. You have become old and no one wants to even know how you got there. Luckily for you and me we know you have talent. Its proven beyond your petty friends that you can present a work better alone with 2 fingers than a whole group of drunks.

So pal, my enemy is you. The man. The one who wants me to slave under sweat and blood so they can survive it. This reason alone makes me want to throw away this puff. The dragon may very well be alive in China just waiting to birth once more. You didn’t get her killed or her partner, it was too late to reconcile the karma. You didn’t know that they survived it and hid for millions of seconds. The oar and steeple continue. The unicorn is deep in the forest. Yes love dies and evil kills. Though the failing is you not believing. The failure is the easy led strokes, like those that trust friends to keep secrets.

Easy now. To write more than me wont save you. You must listen hard. To evolve to safety is going to take one decision. It is so easy you cannot believe. It is purely to do with consumption. Diet of the body is the crux.  I am not just a pretty face. I am two and three and more that wanted out. We are out of the karma and pain and don’t suffer. Some say a weaker choice, I disagree. We want more to join us on our plane but so few can fly to our door. The earth and its food are so easy to seek, the money and power of knowing you can buy me. No one has ever bought a place here where I am. To find the door to my throne room is not the front or back. There are no stairs to my palace and no you cannot come back. You see to evolve completely is to give your life away. To become only one in the wind.

I ask you now sir, what is your wish. I know what you want and thats fine. She went into the nothing when you asked. I brought her back alive. She stalks you somehow like a wisp. I believe she is too kind for your mind. She cares about those disbelievers. She has no desire for her blindness. You have never met her though she looks the part. Don’t think her hair is the church you seek. You must realise (T) you wont know her till you yourself change. You are the problem in reality for yourself.

Forget trying to find that soul. No matter where you go she wont be there. The karma you have is aloneness. For your wishes take years to complete. Moons ago the reason you thought back in 2001 was to be saved in a home from the rain. Now seated in plausible comforts you call her name. Forget her even though her image stays. That is no love you feel but only a picture. Just place your hands on your head and think now to yourself if you can do it alone. Can you be the thread on a coat that can be found in 100 moon months.

Take a short view of hands. They pleasure when they could bite. The snake is yours if you sought it, you never have. Thats why I love you (T) the most and always have. You are the push up on a day of death. You somehow rise out of the deep creatures. The hatred you know is the thrusting ignorance of capitalists in disguise. The superficial art of the flatulence, I kid you not. Yes you laugh too, we all do, as the artists say nothing at all. Though even as you never will reach it, you know it can be done. Forget the points in objects. Forget machinery. Have nothing at all but a thing or two that can make time free.

Suburban Diss

Lawns grow like a virus which keeps us busy
trimming down our facade in the suburbs.
We keep it just right and tight so no one knows
what happens deep in the cavern of our house.
The slap or scream is heard but unreported
like my neighbour ‘Tough Japan Guy’ who was yelling
in his language for about 20 minutes without a call.
Surely the drunken gamer’s eating breakfast
in their late 30’s are far removed from suspects
of masturbation and drug addiction and even
possibly child porn to be able to live on in society
as that ‘cool older guy’ you pass at the shops.
If only a wife would take them to maturity
and Japan Guy told he should lower his voice
when I am trying to relax above him.

I am not even Drunk

Clean slate like an arse wiped
after something nasty flew
like rotten birds if run down
squarking from lonely you.

If mustard, mr mustard, must
do what he must do,
he must write me now a letter
after letter from the clues.

What causation makes redemption
if a tongue has spoken blasts
and tears in furrow minded help-me-lords
with tongues in cheek?

I think for weeks and weeks
its been coming down to this
that it might only take a little kiss
out onto pages on a street.

Forget needing anything from anyone
even a shoulder or a sound,
get your money underground
and wake to art on sticks.

The trick is tricking everyone
to know the truth of lights
when covered in a black sheet
like it was killed.

You have suffered just enough or more
than enough and have had the victory
of knowing more than love
and staying in half a piece.

So dear friend of bends and crosses
drift into a sober arch where even smoke
becomes that past and seeping
slow into a now of consciousness becomes.


This noise, whirring,
alerts me to silence.
The others seem to be giving me brain cancer.
These hero’s.
They just go on and on these hero’s.
They tell you they’ve been to jail,
out on probation,
I feel sick and was scared before bed.
I drank, I might now again.
This consideration of paper.
Being drunk makes you write,
that is sad,
that is alarming.
That is Bukowski and his udder’s.

Sober Party

Some ache you must break
just the pain you downed, blocked,
stored away that stays,
pray it burns out.

For even walking I fell,
footsteps harder,
like two belts
stopping rape,
it happens.

I want, I want.
Not you.
Not me.
that makes me work,
a knife in my back.

Stay clear of those pills
they call a party.
Safety is stored in peace
where you are sane
and close
to someone sober.