Mary had a little lamb,

Oh, no, she had the son of god.

The lamb of God.

It is all the same fairy tale,

when you follow the logic to the end.

Lambs.

Gods.

Are you following along?

Everybody wants something greater to believe.

Shame

Someone scratched up the bonnet of my car.

How bizarre,

that someone would get pleasure from that?

They took a blade and scratched right into the paint,

slashing across, and across,

like that made them boss, I can only think.

Such little joy, one would presume.

Such little hope for humanity, for such delight,

as I day dreamed about that same blade,

slashing their throat.

I wasn’t even ashamed, of the pleasure that thought gave.

Such is life.

What is a Man

Snakes and snails

and puppy-dogs' tails.

Dust and acid and at worst

dirt.

The dry, parched fields,

a day with no rain,

sweat without yield,

beauty without refrain.

fingernails too long,

jocks on the pong,

beer and nuts,

power and guts,

perfume and butts.

Cum in a sock,

bravado we can mock

Alphas on the clock.

Betas take stock

Meet You On The Top Of The Empire State Building

You changed. Oh, not very much, and probably nobody else

would have noticed, but I’m not anybody else. Well, I thought… 

And not that I was looking for it, but when it is just you and me,

it’s not hard to notice. I know you intimately, I have for, oh

it’s been 20 years, this year, and in 20 years I’ve got to know you well.

I know your foibles and I know your joys. I know what you like 

and what you don’t. Oh yes, they are easy to spot, any change in them. 

Well…

We like the same things, you and me, and that is why you like me, 

and I like you. People and parties are not really our thing, 

oh yes sometimes, of course, when we go hand in hand, when you

are with me, and I am with you, that is what you used to like, too. 

Me and you. 

We’d bitch about the same things, and eschew the other things, and we’d make each other laugh with our very own brand of pig headedness. You and me. 

And there was change in those things, you wanted to go to the things we both used to point at and laugh. You wanted to mix with people at work do’s. Really? You stopped sharing the boring phone calls you had. Not that I ever wanted you too, share, but you would, anyway, and we’d both laugh, together. 

And then you’d be gone and you’d offer no explanation, where you once told me everything, even the inconsequential bits. And I found myself wondering where you were, where I never had to wonder in the past where you were.

And, I guessed, you didn’t notice you changing because it was all exciting and new, for you. And I wouldn’t have begrudged you any of that, excitement, I’d be happy for you, if you told me, and I knew. It was still you and me, then, of course.

But you just left me sitting there on my own, alone, as though it didn’t matter, like you’d moved on and you just forgot to tell me, like you forgot to leave, like you’d changed and you’d forgotten to let me know.

Did you think I wouldn’t notice?

Things Of My Dreams

Gum drops and dinosaurs’ and ants with no knickers

Fruit trees and elephants and bombs with no tickers

Bread & butter pudding covered in cream

These are some of the things of my dreams

Cellophane and cherry cakes and buttons from the ages

Star light and egg cups and books with crisp pages

Leather couches stitched at the seams

These are some of the things of my dreams

Bulldogs and goulash and country houses with lakes

Boxes and goblins and chocolate layer cakes

Low slung sports cars in metallic green

These are some of the things of my dreams

When the jerk speaks

When the flu spreads

When I’m feeling sad

I simply remember the things of my dreams

And then I don’t feel so bad

Bicycles and thrift shops and bears with exotic names

Apple pies and blue skies and foreign cities to exclaim

And those little black shorts on football teams

These are some of the things of my dreams

Peacocks and clowns and Sundays that never end

Big hats and black suits and families that blend

Teapots and sugar bowls in silver that gleams

These are some of the things of my dreams

A world where we’re all equal and afternoon tea cakes on trays

Respect for everyone no matter which way they play

Glorious sunshine that warms my bloodstream

These are some of the things of my dreams

When the jerk speaks

When the flu spreads

When I’m feeling sad

I simply remember the things of my dreams

And then I don’t feel so bad

Wednesday Poem, Jack and Beau

Beau

Wednesday, what can I say?

It is a good day,

for realising what you did on the weekend,

was not just drunken behaviour, per se,

but really pretty fucken gay.

You and your buddy, Jack,

that wasn't just boredom,

or too many beers,

that was pretty fucken queer.

Not that I am pointing a finger,

there should be more of it,

there is more of it,

just not a lot of talk about it

out loud.

You straight boys,

with your big toys,

when there are no girls around,

you always come around,

to getting with each other,

not that there is any bother,

with that, brother,

just what your other mates,

down the footy club,

might say, if they saw you and Jack,

treat each other that way.

Lovely Jack, you and he,

always the best of buds,

you'd agree,

he's got lovely eyes,

you have always noticed, you can't deny,

and you'd do anything for him,

and on the weekend, you pretty much did.

In your arms, so disarmed,

that you have always felt that way about him,

especially when you are 6 to 10 beers in.

Jack

Beau said he liked it and would do it again,

with you, he said, he’d do it again with you

and that spun your head,

when you’ve both only ever gone for girls,

and to your surprise, you liked Beau too,

but you weren’t admitting to that taboo,

oh no. But you did now think Beau was handsome,

something you couldn’t explain. And Beau told you

that you were just so good looking, he had to say

not really in a way that was gay, but matter of fact,

although after what you’d both just done,

how could he not say it was… er… let’s say fun?

Creeping Up On Me

I see my reflection in a shop window

and I see the failure of time

as a crime all over my face.

Then I look away, and hurry off

hoping the face looking back at me

won’t catch up to me any time soon.

Because it sneaks up on you,

as if out of nowhere, leaving you 

wondering where the hell did that come from?