Grrr Grrrrr

If I walked around the planet stabbing every lion I saw, kicking every elephant and poking it in the eye. Dumped dirt into every river. Put soil in the ocean and tried to dry it up. Stabbed the barks of trees and tried to burn green leaves. If I scraped off the tarred road. Blew up the buildings. Tore every single book ever written. Blew up every computer. Shoved every single human into a sack and tossed them all to another planet. Stopped the rivers from flowing. Killed every sinlge crow. Killed the thing called sound.

And then sat by myself on the rocks. Hit my hands on the rocks. Till they bled and bled. Till the bones cracked. Hit my hands as hard as I could. As hard as I could. Still angry. Still no tears. That angry. And then if I died, would you call me a martyr, martyred in search of good life.

The Object of His Amusement

Wednesday evening
the rock star
passes her by.

Mud in the Rain

Have you seen ash grey mud. It's a strange colour. Have you seen ash grey mud sogged in the rain. That's the colour of my hands when the sky is all dark, and the rain is waiting to fall impatiently. Seeing my hands that colour, overwhelms me for some reason. It's a strange feeling. Makes me feel like some beloved of mine wanted my hands to be that colour. The coulor of ash grey mud in the rain.

*****

And I shall write, if only of the colour of my hands. Because a writer writes. A writer just writes.

Bliss

And I don't comb my hair for a month.
I feel young, probably younger than when I was young.
Laughter comes almost like it had never left.
Cycling in the rain.
Cycling in the wind.
Chasing the sun.
On top of the world.
Nobody told me it would be like this.
Nobody told me what it was to be young.
Nobody told me I'd live like this.

Saturday evening
a bag lying still.
Thoughts of stealing it.
Thoughts of running
away with it.
Thoughts.
And thoughts.