Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Monday, February 8, 2010


Grey rides the day,
on a soft easy glow
below hush
it sings me to sleep,
my eyes,my eyes
oh baby oh baby all pet n purr

but it lies.

it charms the way of the wanderer with mellancholy come along on tethered hope

Streets of clouds on heartdrop pattern sing to the tarantula wind that plays mystic to the fiddler's prayer

as a door opens, fly and bang!

and the stock over shoulder look,

forgetting their cud and burst splatter udders

that sway as hades on opium.

the highway sings distant

not all pot and clang cachophony

while the grey rides silver morning trains

on blue hazy dreams

that blaze and sear the colours of your perfect


so trumped and shit upon

i walk the edge of shapeless time and withered green

sold as baker's dozen

and there!
is where grey found me needing.

so a begger I'll but be,
but not one of sullen enterprise
nor sandpiper compromise
-me for my egg

grey tells you
it is enough
I tell you,
it is not.

(I'm sorry, I did all I could but the spacing just wouldn't cooperate. A real disaster. It is what it is, I suppose.)