Release

I,
As the moon to the earth
linger in your gravity.
Always afar;
Like Aldrin watching Armstrong take those first steps.
Eclipsed by the light and obscured by the clouds
I dwell in the vacuum of this space we’ve created
In the singularity before the big bang
And the universe that was meant to be after.

Transit

This morning I took the 9:30 to the city, filled to the brim with business suits, bicycles and backpacks. And as I made my way down the aisle I saw a curiously vacant seat halfway down the compartment.
Brilliant, I thought to myself... everyones being polite and no ones planting any flags. I might as well claim it. 30 seconds of sidestepping later, I arrive at my throne only to find the words 'white power' spray painted above a swastik on it.
So I sat down.

Warchild

We roam these streets of burning rubble;
Robbed of our innocence and compensated with a rifle
Arms strong from carrying ammunition.
Bodies weak from cocaine and malnutrition.

Cease thinking of me and I will forever remain a concept.
A project for out of work actors seeking to regain recognition.
The face beside a number to call with your donation.
I kill because I am the fulcrum of evil.
I die because you ignore my existence.

Glenhuntley

On a bench under the flood-lit evening's

orange hue that makes the lines on his hands seem ...deeper

as if etched by time, and moulded stronger.

It's been a long day and its a long way home.

The upstart rides his bike in figure-eights around lampposts and billboards

no worries, no cares, no bills, no distant stares.

Its way past the time he should've been home

the whole world for the taking but it seems like he doesn't want it.

The fool.

He'd kill to go back to when he was that young, and there were new prospects on the ever widening horizon.

He has no new milestone.

He has no awakening future.

His days have been lived.

His choices made.

And its too late to make amends for a life he didn't dream of living.

The train inches into its designated platform

to take him home, to a warm cup of soup, the 11 o'clock news

and black and white memories of glory days now so empty.

Ambassador

Liver in a bottle.

Heart in a suitcase.

Lungs in a plume of smoke.

Eyes that see only the road behind.

Ears that only hear rumours of things to come.

My mind stacks them up neatly on the backseat;

and my soul chases after them naked down the street.

Detour

Knock knock

Who's there

Pete, Keith, John & Roger

Who?

Bingo!

Kamikaraoke

Today disappeared a half hour ago
now the horizon turns crimson and tangerine..
maliciously glimmering with a slow anger.
while the spinning vortex at the nose dances against twilight
creating an incredible contra-rotating center of brilliance.
push the stick down on this flying question mark.
head west,turn this magic carpet around.
look for blue,against the vast inpenetrable darkness.
seconds like minutes,minutes like hours,base is light-years away.
the great loneliness now becomes immensely dangerous
as dials and gauges gyrate counterclockwise,
as if submitting to smooth green hills lecherously rushing up from under.

Hush

Open the door and flick that switch

That shines light on familiarity,

silently,contemptuously,breeding.

And then a little voice whispers

"It's time to be someplace else"

Holden St.

who writes the pages of our lives,

conditions our minds to drama queens in magazines.

sets our pathways and saves us from being alive.

gives us electric obscenity, instead of acoustic simplicity.

who are we if not what we pretend to be.

what are we if not you and me.

where are we if not in the united state of our minds.

seek and you will find

the non-conformists conforming to non-conformism.

lost somewhere in the comfort of numbers i see

kind words, from wild eyes

that speak of the power of butterflies, and hurricanes.

10 to the power of 8 minus 10 to the power of 6.

fractals of strings and straws,

lefthanded minds, and unborn siblings.

the positives of A-, and the negatives of B+.

any room for a negative 'be positive'?

the latitude and longitude of a northern sun across an open courtyard

envelopes the very picture of happiness.

no forests, no echos...just laughter.

i love my friends.

i love my life..

i am kid charlemagne.

Requiem for Allan Young

You were his messenger in times of hope and fear,

his silent consul before i was old enough to comprehend.

So I left him alone with you every night under the harvest moon;

a solitary lamp beside a solitary glass replete with alcohol for two.

Smoking the peace pipe and writing your words on his walls.

But the dying days are upon you, my mentors,

and though the mansion on the hill has been destroyed;

psychadelic music still fills the prairie wind,

as it blows hopes and dreams clear of your forsaken ranch.

All the good people have gone away,

and taken their good times with them.

And the ragged evening of life brings no glory to a restless soul;

just tears and smiles.

And memories of the same avocation 20 years before.