Fragments

There's something tragic about a tank without a fish,
A meal without a dish,
And a life without a wish.

Buy me a hat,
And take my photo at the seaside,
And feed my words back to me disguised as your own,
And we'll miss the boat.

I am going to hug the fuck out of you.

Half a beard is rather weird,
But half a mind is taken in stride.
Beards and mind collide.

It can be easier to pretend to be somebody else,
When you're not happy in yourself.
But as the headache fades it gets harder,
So don't take the pill.

A vial of green goo,
Why would anyone drink that?
You're full of red goo.

There once was a man called Idoo,
Who featured in a haiku,
He was a little bit arty,
and boring at parties,
And nothing about him would do.

Even kings have to eat.

Crass. Crass. Crass. Crass. Crass. Crass. Crass. Crass.

I do not think they will sing for me.

Professional Writing

Clear cut keys tap away the seconds,
As the whirring air conditioner siphons away each breath.
The silence hangs heavy, pallid and profound.
A shroud upon the bloated corpse of thought.
A world where the written word is king,
And governs almost everything you do.
Is studied and examined in the bowels of buildings bare,
Just read it once, and sigh, and then you're through.
For the whispered words of people used to shouting,
Make for awkward sounds for minds to grasp upon.
And for students of the word to fail and be silent,
Lends little hope to set this down and done.

This bodes even more ill.

Sevenfold secrets surrendered by sorrowful silence.
Terrible terrapins, toasted towards the turning.
Loudmouth larrikins, leaping and lowering lungs.
Bastard boys, blighted and blessed before.