In the fragile distant ( to the voice of a Dytonique accordion)

In the fragile distant

wood

the tree's still like to wake the drumming summer.

the river storming the painful bird shot

the distance far and run.

I sail a storm in the head of a shower but the green overtakes my pride and I see too many colours in mens eyes

too many veins in their hands delicately drunk in the heat of the days work

Across the tide falls

Played the kittens like children and places like this

will always exist

and places like this still exist.

a little wine spilt on this.

and places like this will still exist...

ba dum ba du dum ba du

dum dum

escapisim is a funny art.

fair and full and free.

strings between fingers

strength beneath toes.

the circus is calling me in the notes

the clown of the body

circus fruit

pirates

brittle

and in the wains

rooted.

heart.

Strokes me through

Nothing restricts my love I see too many heart founded fables

tales

old and streaming

through the green and blue ocean

the blue ocean

rises and pangs sway

waltz's

devours and

then free's

Europe from its slavery

free's my heart

my slavery

call art form

the haunt from the wrists of many sky

hipped men with colours

golden and brown an

yellow and black

blonde hairs

this fairs through

Kissing my brow

brew

brew

brew

Eye's up and

sweetly sighing

the green wood in

haartenberg

bounce bounce my little

girl bounce alive

the living swirl

bounce bounce my little girl

the accordion will still pain play

the sun still heat.

and fall

my heart still

beat even if I am 905

this heart healed and it feels

so good.

Alex

He sails in the eye's of the mountains .

Boy he raises his eyebrows like a boy.

Yellow shades in his skin and veins

running upwards his arms

Monsieur alex is a funny man .

Though he shades his skin with the impulse of the sunshine call

the words are flowing through his mouth, his heart.

these words are true.

Eyes deep green orange and blue

maybe yellow too.

dark ochre colours I feel, like clay.

the water cold but

freeing .

sun lid train by and by you

Alex you are alive and I am

to.....

Haartenberg by the fire

We are all proud of our countries

though we share it in our pockets

Alex

'Garet' life is waking me and putting me to sleep over

and over again .

The Kitten taps my shoulder

to tell me he's iling, ailing his

breath

the night is.

It is the wrong time my friend to give it to him.

How lucky I feel in this world of so many faces 'naochebi' (wrinkles) , streaking and

bleating through me like moonshine.

nani na nas e

alour....

this is the life of the theatre tree

man.

Sparta

Czeska Respublika

Poland.

Georgie

and

Prangi.

de cour.

plus I am true.

Space man

I am a space man

launching in to the past

space man.

The sky is ashing now.

The fruit is faster than the wind.

The clowns

are wandering by.

The aerial dancers are drawing out the poison.

The Ivy stopped to grow.

The litany is scared.

I don't even know what a litany is.

The sacred word is fake.

The wonderer is mysterious.

I am grounding with a cape.

I am worshipping by the salty lake.

My people are badly injured.

I incure self inflicted dangers.

I sit instead of moving

I move to know how alive I can feel,

I am entranced, enthralled and heavy.

Like a rock scratched for thousands of years.

Words are like bites from broken butterflies.

Strings are sounding heavy and roars.

The beauty is flaming and due.

I want to love whether you dress in black or blue.

I want to love you

Your sinews holding in to rooting in to another mans hands.

Flesh in to the deep roots of another mans body.

I want to love you for being you.

Leave you be whether you changed sex overnight

I want to love you

I want to love you for your soul.

If you ever showed it to me

Because I've fallen and its like a haze I can't release from. Like a momentary cry of a she wolf delicately swimming in the sea.

I am person.

I am cave.

I am drunk.

Never by reality but the thrones of the gospel stones.

I am blissful and calm.

Centered and sinister.

Sold and blistered,

Bleary and wintery on a summers day.

Not appreciating what I got not

growing for this vacant lot.

Not a sinner but saint not a saint but sinner and sinful is a word

and sinful is a word

and so is saint.

And so is saint

words are like music faces like the marks of a brush.

All our experiences carried in a wash.... Our bodies streaming distance. Our naked shoulders bursting to the sun.

Our naked knees popping to the distance.

Our eyes able to reach the horizon. How soft and tender the horizon can be even with its sharp black colours

These words are helping me fuck it all

fuck it all for its not the end by any means.

Who knows what life is ain’t thats why is so great to be it.

To be it is to arrogant to say, What can I do but live if I entered this world with life..

I scrape words deep inside from my subconscious to lay them out to you like a ship

an organ

and a harmonica

brown and yellow colours.

The cool air is due.

The flavours are burnt.

I sing in lisps and goodbyes.

Whatever that means

Vauge skin

Vauge life rythmn.

broken sinews and salt..

asleep before it boils.

Why is this time forgotten, the time when

things sleep.

If I could be awake for every sleep

what would I see

If I could be alive for every moment I'm dead

would I be happy

If aspire to know nothing

what does that make me

if I aspire to learn what does that make me.

If belong to one country who am I

Do I belong to the world.

I didn't choose to create borders, I was told thats how the world works.

Why do we have borders and not for the sake of a difficult question.

Why do we?

Is it our way of categorising the world.

I ask myself

Especially when nature is chaotic.

How can we tame nature

I don't even understand a fragment of my own.

No matter how much I've tried

and given up.

And tired

and tried.

Who cares about what I say,

Who cares what it means

do I

what am I?

Why do I question myself.

What do I question

and how do I escape ?

What is it to face things?

Or to run far away?

Am I running running away ?

Or Am I stale and stern

staying

swaying......

or am I just a lick spit of sperm that decided I exist.

What is it?

Dressed in black

dressed in black

dressed in black

dressed in black

dressed in black

dressed in black

dressed in black....

and it shows.

For Amy….

Your hair falls

in stings

not just a body

lonely

Outside the green

hear your vocal chords tremble…

woe

My generation experiences.

Though you call us fake

this reality.

with your eyes all stretched out like green peacocks in the green flame.

Tell me

how is it that you put love in a category.

Tell me how is it that you name a death by numbers and not by personality.

Tell me

What is it that you care for.

or what

even

you believe in.

Do you remember the first time you fell?

Because i do.

I will never forget.

Through the collapses it travels on the rivers

the guitar rumbles through it

up the back of jeering notes,

how they called her.

violently

and screams.

how she called herself to execute….

numb.

money.

I am not vauge.

just responsible.

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel

that i can feel.

Soul .

Mother fucker hates.

Whether its gentle or rough

through her passion filled hips

she fuelled…in her funny way…

It will always hit.

What...are you still trying to judge books by covers and souls by body

Then why do i exist.

Tears fill embrace

this is her final resting

in place.

I am subdued, my heart rests

An angel finally sleeps

You sang for us…

You sang for us

we

are we worthy

we?

your song for us.

finger beat of the scratchy moon.

and my tears need not fade.

though they go

My reality grows but does not shatter your spokes or

falls

dancing on

I will dance on.

to the black

I will dance until my toes know not how.

to your voice.

But my heart can fight and reckon

from their is born

too many

many

colours….

settle.

judge and perceive,

the calling of a wilting rose,who was born to see the rain shatter her

though she took it

what is it to take?

like petals calls

good night dear sweet generation.My eyes are open

My heart still roars.

To those who feel love, you are not hidden

There is no judgement spoken

today's autumn sweet wind

august

caressing…

the air

with the sun.

In Response to the Paintings of artist Duncan Iago and Marc Sinclar

I want to ask you

Duncan Iago, What do you feel when you paint?

Music in the break beats and the harmonies of base,

shoulders

base

hips

base

release

base fingers base

tips

base

release

base

but within you show me your soul,

show me you can funk...

I am latent and bare,

I stand here sparring my self

the insecurities

and pass page by page,

the initiations of my heart.

Already complex.

Let me break it down

My heart rings thru the branches of twisted leaves

tearing and raging softly inside of my intestinal pull,

these paintings make me feel so empty but

so full,

ill,

out of the colours from my childhood I find a worksheet,

The universe lays through it,

I feel the funk music in my toes

and then i look at the strings of lines points and unembarrassed

no one else matters,

when you dance.

There is a detail that speaks to me it is like the soul but not so important,

this detail is funny

both

and beautiful,

colourful wishful and serene like a pipeline of rain

that leaked in to the crevices and crack fines of the street,

each colour separated by the dropping of ink,

harmonious

chaotic

and mine is happy.

If i stare at it too long my blood sugar makes it black

then white

then float.

Twists beat out endure,

raid,

rest

and bounce.

What was contained in my shoulders

is

light

feathered

and out

and then I notice mark Sinclair...

I stare in to the black gals eyes

and she tells it bare...

What do you feel when you paint?

Marc Sinclair : '....I feel naked, vulnerable....'

For a Boy...(and for me).I find it really hard to tell him how I feel...

These are the colours of the world.

One for passion deep inside of my heart.

One for persistence,

for the lonely,

Which lies within hard work and a graceful notion.

Flowering deep within the the forest flame, burning bright

and

extinguishing.

Feeling alive, young.

Hesitant, without measuring, stalling

But being bold not hidden

Bearing orange across you chest, like spider webs flowers

as you climb

Sway

and fall...

Wake,Blue around the glimmering tones.

Positive and alive.

Knowing what you are.

How no one can stop you as long you keep your chin up

and your hands and feets going.

spreading life...

Endurance is endurance burning in the flame.

Be who you are.

Patient green is staring through

El condor pasa

colours grey and white and blue weave.

bob in and out within the streaks of clouds,

the circus comes in waves

I am witness.

these are the colours of the world,

and peoples faces are a wash with amazement of the growth of the smallest

wings in a man

as like in a woman.

Each vein fills up and constricts, bursts with pangs and feels weary

with antenae...

Yet all this is

newborn

newborn.

Scar'd with being new born.

This light is not a blind position

though you will travel far

Screw your apologetics to the world of thoughts

and bear in on your chest the love you hold.

Though the bow and arrow speeds up...

be awake enough to feel it hit.

Let it be

if I cannot express my love let it be,

well it will be that the spirit

a collison

may spare us together

either by the river or the moon.

I am not afraid to feel my love

tho my cheeks blush.

A poem I wrote for dad a few months ago...

I am a box of matches,

I am old

I am tired

I am rusty

I am solid

I am stubborn.

I am woods

and feathers on trees

I am children's fingers

I am you

I am me.

I am in pain

I am not free

I am me

I cannot Fly

I feel conquered

trapped

and raped? Is too sour for me.

I feel like an escapist.

I feel like a fighter wearing blue.

Eating ice cream

Rusting veins out of my head.

I am serene.

I am uncomfortable

I do not play, I forgot too long ago how to do that.

I am unreal searching and dismissive.

I am a clown and pauper

A stream and a singer

A vision and a spy

A wish and definitely not a miracle.

I am so bitter and old.

My splinters used to heal but they forgot to.

I used to be romantic but now my belly is cynical

it farted.

I cared about the world but now the world has lost me.

Simple in the plain

A snake in the forest

A power that burns me out

A wishful dreamer

An optimist

in aligators skin.

And the veins on my writers forehead.

I see anger in your viscous destructive anger.

The kind I saw when you turned angels in to demons

Pigs in to chickens and stuck pillars in to the earth and forgot that you could have roots, forgot that you could fly and just hated.

I burn and expire

Burn and expire.

How is it with one word you can take all your wisdom away and with two bring it back to me.

It started to rain

shliuosp

sh heleeep

shemep shemep

SHEMEen

showaN sTROCKKCOK

SHROOP DSHO SIMMA

SIMZA ZIP SLIP still slow free

whispers.

I am your hypnotised piece of recycled card board grey soaked piece of fury

and fuck your anger and fuck your pride.

Fuck you.

Fuck your anger

Fuck me

And my pride.

Fuck you fuck your anger fuck me and this time I rhymed.

For a Boy...(and for me).I find it really hard to tell him how I feel...

These are the colours of the world.

One for passion deep inside of my heart.

One for persistence,

for the lonely,

Which lies within hard work and a graceful notion.

Flowering deep within the the forest flame, burning bright

and

extinguishing.

Feeling alive, young.

Hesitant, without measuring, stalling

But being bold not hidden

Bearing orange across you chest, like spider webs flowers

as you climb

Sway

and fall...

Wake,Blue around the glimmering tones.

Positive and alive.

Knowing what you are.

How no one can stop you as long you keep your chin up

and your hands and feets going.

spreading life...

Endurance is endurance burning in the flame.

Be who you are.

Patient green is staring through

El condor pasa

colours grey and white and blue weave.

bob in and out within the streaks of clouds,

the circus comes in waves

I am witness.

these are the colours of the world,

and peoples faces are a wash with amazement of the growth of the smallest

wings in a man

as like in a woman.

Each vein fills up and constricts, bursts with pangs and feels weary

with antenae...

Yet all this is

newborn

newborn.

Scar'd with being new born.

This light is not a blind position

though you will travel far

Screw your apologetics to the world of thoughts

and bear in on your chest the love you hold.

Though the bow and arrow speeds up...

be awake enough to feel it hit.

Let it be

if I cannot express my love let it be,

well it will be that the spirit

a collison

may spare us together

either by the river or the moon.

I am not afraid to feel my love

tho my cheeks blush.