Saturday, 19 August 2017


when I can't write
I feel like a block of stone
dreaming alone of nothing

a boat without eyes
for the oars
and no horizon



nothing to lose

music evokes pictures
pictures provoke feelings
one thing leads to another and ...
here we go - always at 5 am
a deaf woman sitting alone
looking out a window

an all American boy filling his face
at a hot dog eating contest 
champion eater - 3 years in a row
51 dogs - 10 minutes

a beggar in the garden
of Gethsemane holding up
an empty cup

staring into the night
no one listening
his last night
on earth

caroling crickets

a mother calling out her son's name
only to realize he's gone
in anguish; "Aadish come" again
no words left behind

no trace

hearing it - now seeing it

years passing
a trailer park just out of town
in Cabot Arkansas

she's been alone for days
big bag of Lays and another beer
at 1pm

ashtray is full and the place is a mess
staring blankly at the TV (fuming)

plus size house-coat
eating and screaming at Springer
because that f*cking bitch
needs to die

they're bleeping the sound but we know
what they're saying - filling in the blanks
reading their lips
turn them on each other
it's something my Dad taught me
watching you through my sterile scope
analysing - improvising

curious - cautious

me with money - you not
common and yet ironic
because I can see you
but you can't see me
because I am your


something still not right 
looking over my shoulder

you see - it's supposed to be
the other way around
it's ass backwards


I'm bathing in bubbles
surveilling the dark shadows 24/7
and still there's this haunting feeling in that

you're not afraid
but I am

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