Grey Lines

Heaps of men have gathered here
I too from a far away land
To witness the world anew
And reshape it by my hand.

But too many now wet the streets
In a mass bohemian parody
This wrinkled humanity
Has staggered to a halt
Too close to the cusp of being
Stitched into silence

The traffic light blinks
Forward ye knights in shining armor.

How far would these wide eyes walk
Into this moor of mapped mirages
Before they know
That all the conquered castles
Have been cast aside
Into the white foam
Of purple sea;
Set free.

There shall be signposts around
Thousand steps
Falling in a single sound
But since when did the common denominator
Never divided
Us into I

So perhaps this time too
One may see
A brave soul
Into the depths
And the rest follow;
This domino,
White lines
Crossing the oceans
Only to greet
An infinity where
The Black lines meet.


The needle was cold
Like ice
Drawn on paper
And my skin
Poured forth, at it’s touch;
Soft as vapour .

My, my, rainbow blue
Where are thou
In this sky:
Past Siberian prairies
Or neath valleys
Spilling high?

These dreams aren’t mine
Aren’t mine are these walls
I was taught to build them
To learn how to fall
And I still can so hear
Those bricks seeping salt
‘ We keep a part of you
As souvenir for each fault’

Dandelion, Daffodil
Kaleidoscopic in wind still.

Their is a saint at my door
His hands are all tied
He has one eye upon his forehead
To weep for the world wide
And he asks for the key
To be free
From the Pain
So I whisper to him the causes
Of the criminally insane.

The world, the world
Wither not by my words
It’s the pleasure in my veins
That so flutters as a bird
And breathes, full of life,
Even with autumn in my arm
Hold fire to my lips,
And let the numb still feel warm.

The Lesser Serenade

I was once a baritone,
Timbre like the weight of stone,
And yet in the aching arms of a piano
I could weep and keep the sweetest soprano,
But that was long ago, you see,
When the curtains rose just for me,
And not for choruses, such as now I abide,
Like an tuneless trumpet, by the side.

I have no voice left, so to speak,
Just a twig of pitch, dry and weak,
Which I wring each day, north and south
For a morsel to fill my mortal mouth,
So in glory of the dream slain past
Could I sail again, against this motion vast,
Of arpeggios the world claim true,
That once left my falsetto in ruin and rue.


I have far less words
Far lesser time
There is a sun for me to swallow
Without a whiff of wine
Will the wild man keep, open his shop
Till I find some coin
For a single drop
This sober world is not for me
All colored one way
So none may see
The boiling rainbow in someone’s yard
Or the aces aligned in another’s card
Those worry lines on a toddler’s face
And the moral codes we wear as brace
Cause it will break the hives
It will free the bees
Who shall hum that honey, truly
Taste like grease
One that winds your watch
One that grinds your wheel
One that drives you on
One that holds you still
For this world is full of paradox
You buy makeup as cure for chickenpox
And put band-aid upon a broken heart
If willing to trade the spare parts
So all in all
This place is sick
Filled with filth as if the bladder’s weak
And none clever enough to make it stop
Nor kind to lend me for a single drop.


How the aging world mock,
The new as weak,
Whilst the old lay fallen,
On paths the young never seek,
Is it mystery when the thespians
Feels vacant and so weep,
To know they build kingdoms
But not a brick can they keep.
That everything held dear,
Shall be lost to those eyes;
Life won in the mud,
Now lost to the skies,
It’s the way of the world,
And every hour has her time,
The copper in the end,
Was gold in it’s prime.

In the Cause of Quietness

They smile no longer as they used to
These eyes I mean
Those lips have dried long ago
Fallen far away
Into a different world, a different time,
When not all darkness was black, and not all brightness was white,
A different world, a different time.

They no longer see as they used to
These hands I mean
Those eyes have closed long ago
Tears set them free,
And now all they feel is the roughness of life
Sunlight as sandpaper,
Moonbeams, as knife.

They no longer live as they used to,
The dead I mean
Forever in motion
Reaching nowhere at all,
And now all they wish is the cause of quietness
Which they fear if ever,
One may hear, after all.