Where are they all going
Marching in the millions
With hurry in their walk
With time in their thought
What are they all doing
Sitting around machines
With hands on its buttons
With artificial lights in their eyes
Why aren’t they smiling
Working in fancy places
With screens they have lunch
With screens they share laughs
Which are their dreams
Having nightly stakeouts
With shrivelled lungs and cold feet
With sweaty palms and bad teeth
Whose are those stooped backs
Carrying backpacks with more screens
With grey hairs and slow snores
With forehead lines and dull eyes
When are they leaving
Saving the little failing light
To sunny fields and naked farms
To danty streams and wavy palms


Will and Want, Your Soul Shall Not

Do you want it let go
Worry not for it’s in nature
It’s been part of growth and all of life
To let everything go but be alive

The entire time it has been wanting
Then letting go setting free
The thoughts of want and very being
Every no chipped away at the soul
Took its toll dulled it more

With every need every want
Threads of the soul threatened tore
In and out the boiling pot of want
Until it couldn’t bear no more
The desire to desire all but vanquished

Now there is no pot
There is no want
There is no need
There is no Me
There is no I
There is nothing but a silent sigh.

Successive unSuccesses

Soothe me darling
As I break under your acidic breath
And build me back up from the rubble
With your withering cold touch

Coax me dear
As I crawl from under the piles of shit
And fix me up in your safe pit
Let my pain not rear its searing head

Free me love
As I float in your isolated bubble
With hounds that bare their deadly
With bars that bar everything else

Keep me near
As I do not hope to hope
And shield me with undeath
From the loss – the first and the last

Save me you dope
As I grope through this jagged freefalling dark
And lacerate my fragile self as it gushes past
Oh splitter splatter away my bleeding darkness

Dead Dance in Tales

As I write this note
I realize
Her eyes
Are a portal
To her soul
The throttle
To my goal
The driving force
To all the chores
I found its source
Above her nose

Ah! Women!
Every mortal endeavour
That deprives him
Of reprieve
Edges him on
Amidst endless strife
Adrift in chaotic eddies
Blistering, he strives
Till he can blaspheme
So he can thrive
Blast a stream
To further his tribe
N’Secure his shrine

Isn’t there a nobler pursuit
Of art and messy paint
Of darts and piercing arrows
Of dance and sordid scenes
Of poems and pitiful plays
Oh can it be said
Yes but not if you are dead