Silver-tongued devil, 

you were a legend and I 

pray the end was calm 

A steel grey sky melts 

into the dark ocean as 

waves recall the womb 

Our lives are still ruled 

by ancient ideas stretching 

back millennia 

Tempests pass, broken 

by azure and blinding light 

that bring new hope home

There was a time when 

time was different, stretching 

towards infinity  

Drowning in store aisles 

as unneeded but still craved 

waves of products crash 

As good people sleep 

and dream below their beds beasts

gnash their teeth and scheme 

The moment when a

sunrise meant waking, not time

for bed eludes me

Too young to have so

many dead friends who died so

very long ago 

A blank drawn across 

the page with an empty pen

that tells no more lies 

We've tumbled down the 

hole into the arms of the

Hatter, no, hater 

Scars and lines like a

map of your life that tells the 

world you've seen some shit 

A purpose-built storm 

on the horizon brings with 

it the tang of blood 

Silly gigolos

of old have become sages

soothsayers and gods 

Between darkness and 

light a dream lies curled like a

cat with claws glinting  

A sonorous ship's

horn echoes across the dark

river mournfully 

The pear, perfectly

ripe, plucked from the tree, tastes of 

life, love, maybe lust 

The blood is up to

our knees, but pretend it's just

a big screen TV

Pine needles crackle 

underfoot amid the warm

waning summer days 

The metallic taste 

of the smoke and the missing

 posters remain etched 

Through broken glass smoked

with age a vague reflection 

of the self is born 

The light already 

fading by the time you read

this, but warmth remains 

Adonis once, now

twisted and aged but his voice

still exudes beauty

The memory may

not be recalled, but the past 

is always present

Belabor the point 

or point the finger like a 

gun that shoots ill will 

I once rambled with

Rabelais but now I laze 

about with Lao Tzu 

Farewell and godspeed 

to yet another mentor 

who has passed away 

This sentence hung on

by a thread until swiftly 

sewn back up again

The sunflowers hang

their heads knowing their season 

is nearing its end 

The house is bursting

with forgotten books and dead 

magazines, unread