Heavy is the work of the walking woods
That adjourn reality like a scene by my side
As the car rolls down the motorway proof
Of man’s ingenuity of life made by mankind.

Love was not asked if light was okay
When the country was painted with black and white
And lines did not ask Cocaine to be next
In the decadent description of language at work for the whites.

Yet wherever I went the sky would not leave me
And claustrophobia was manacles of past meekness
Such was the hospital of livelihood that was a beacon
To a man seeking nature with his own brown likeness.

Mirrors were adjusted without make up and lip gloss
In the pull down adjacent next to the vanity of safe travel
Trusting in the passers-by on routes to not so near:
Fears were descendent with the road rage looks
And Tom Toms to come for the faces and frowns like gravel.

On those hills was not a white horse speaking to me
Or chalk cliffs with spade and bucket for Phuket and Timbuktu
Instead was a newspaper with a book review.

Cold
Empty
Meaningless.
A death to a Trojan
And some Hatha Yogi whore.
What more can be done
To a nation?

The green was not marijuana
For a line between the earth and a heavenly sky
That had no advocate from the millions online.

Fine.
So be it.
Fire me.
Eat me.
Bite me.
too.

[Psyche]

The bikes moved quicker and the roads were tolled fairly quiet
And the sun never spoke well of tomorrow for the unemployed.
Such was the horror of life still turned around without The Fall
When the marriage to hell was now a new toys for girls and boys.

Ken and Barbie
Say hello to the Bobby
If you see the secret
Keep it between you and the Sikh-of-it.

Asking away was the meaning of the day when Islam was gay for the Crusades to have said.
What is well read when the files are being upload-ed to the Op-Ed and his booted and suit-ed?

[Such was the honour of a culture without China
What wined and dined for Qi on BBC-phew.]

Waste a land and the donkey with it will not be ready and predictable
But if you scan the battlefield you will know then the ass who is the middle line.

Wandering
Left overs
The unheard self
And the hope of one more …

Heavy is the road when I travelled on it in the past
With the momentary allowance of the fan who moved too quickly
Lying beside him is the light of the beggar who came to Calvary
With a cross to accept that no spear shall stay forever by his side.

Pace
Humour
Mine
The nicest honour is not always the best read.

Love was spent when the Gospels spoke simply
So Walden could save a journalist of what was not [Christine Brinkley].