thoughtwave charmer
torn from the wing
the sail a harmer

walk a mile in the shoe
the cut of the clothes
the eyes of forever
and everyone knows

at the end of the cigarettes
bright tip
simmers thoughts
in the pocket that seasons
bought
are purchases of dead
dreams and living schemes
hatched and latched
plethoras of periwinkle
wave lust stands
while the stars dripped
falling too understand
the fallow ghosts
the deadman plate
with tool kit zest
we zoom on rolling
headlight cutting
through the snow
like seamstress scissors
howling the way at
crossings
growling up the grades

dreamtime my precious
curl
huddled up
shut down
no appeal
the shift to the vivid
atmospheres
where I am in character
with much appeal

gritty and grey substitiute
listening as you flank me
left in your heel high boot
the glistening lip
snarled in a curl
and dashing daring
eye ochre tipped lash
as dark as the excited
pupil

"my tears have washed my shirt"
and so they have
the wash machine slurry
shedding aggregates of slurry
a music steady backbeat drop
while I google up the backstop
and we head off through the
ruins crouched side smouldering
ideals shattered
objectives identified
that mattered

take five strip down
field gaurdian motives
recline against the
bulk of a wall
toss a leg upon me
the connection
rejoicing
while the world with
its cross hairs
waits to voice
its power
deducing and recouping

and the while
the snow falls
eating sandwhichs with
dirty fingers
smiling closed mouth
in the dark
the ruined park

sewing clothes with
craft sinew
salvaged
catching zees
with the rucksacks
at the door

batteries recharged
with the jennies
two hundred feet away
we need our silence
our ears
a place to softly shed
unseen tears
before
we wake from vivid
cacaphony of dreams
and start the livid
race all over

scavanged cups
and a water bottle
the "preacher" doles
out the purpose
to keep us steady
and not so nervous

check the straps to our
egos
our hearts and style
totems and symbols
the things that give
us a whirl
death is a round
where we find our
swirl
the vortext to the central
cortex
slap it in
erase the frowns
move out
into the ghost of the town

....