…The One you can’t beat (I) Alone…

More paces to follow –Assuredly

Daisy Chains & Strawberry Fields

Is it too much to say you’re not alone.

Understand this. I am nothing if not a contradiction in no uncertain terms.
Misinformation is so readily available that I’m determined not to cite, or properly source my outcry- finish my coffee get myself situated before plot>turns>river around and says… I’ve been struck by lightning.

That is to say…
I wonder about the human animal.
I am told that the umbilical cord was around my neck before my expulsion from the womb.
I have a complicated relationship with water– bury me at sea with a flaming arrow.

Suppose that Froid & Yung both slipped up.
You’ll sleep when you’re dead, because that sure as shit wasn’t a dream, kiddo.
but You’re not alone.

I think you’re weird for having tattoos. wearing shoes. and dodging the issue.
I’ll re-dress the wound — I skin my…

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…Missunderstood (VII) Meet your man…

Red Wine; Disguise
Like Vines; May Rise

All Roads; Might Roam
Abode; My Home

Emphatic; In-the-Attic
Crystallising; Memory Palace

Dark Empires; State of mind

Seek Out; …& find.

You’re all along the axis of my mind…


“Bow ties are cool.” –

…The words turn about the axis (XII) Swings & Roundabouts…


Through a lense, captured by your rainy season


Mood swings and round-about turn of phrases

Sheltered, thousand-word stare, excitable galvanising yards of one-way traffic


Theorising games best played in the rain- In your downpour

Only my raggedy wind breaker, and shambling umbrella

To keep me warm when whatever was your weathered pattern


Colour cascade, tarnished & worn

Lovelorn keys, darkly, turn by turn

The imagined, and the supposed

Separated at birth- and with good reason

…Elementary (III) Leaf on the wind…

I am like the wind
Broken and unbound
Kind to those who need its touch
Harsh to they who’d think the wind too strong
Never in one place for long
But always can be found
I know this much
I am the wind

We’re none of us Angels
Not those with wings
That suffer no speech
Are blind to grand design of things
Even those of us that fly
That are the wind
We’ve our sins each
We’re no Angels

…The Middle Ground (III) On reflection…

You prize my eyes, but they’ll deceive you.
Through my disguise I wont believe you.

I’d trace your face, to frame in starlight.
And spite the mirror’s crooked insight.

You think you’re frail, and so demanding.
My words fail me- these withstanding.

You built me up to stand beside you.
Hush, and hear how I’d describe you.


…The Digital Playground (III) The running man…

“We meddle…
People don’t like to be meddled with.
We tell them what to do, what to think.
‘Don’t run, Don’t Walk.’
We’re in their homes and in their heads
And we haven’t the right.
We’re meddlesome.”
(River Tam)

It got in me too young.

Before I knew what it was.

Or what to call it.

First it took my eyes.

And I needed to know more.

And though awake, I slept.

The ears were next-in-line.

Hard truths for the soft-touch.

And the games I’d learned to play would end.

And I was alone once more.

I tried to run.

Fast as my feet would carry me.

Arms wide shut.

And never wondered if things would become undone again.

But then I lost touch.

And I never stopped to wonder or ask why.

And soon I had just the one leg to stand on.

If I knew then, I’d tell myself what I told a friend.

‘The things we do when we’re procrastinating are the things we should be doing for the rest of our lives’.

Running wasn’t the sport for me. Running fast wasn’t my past-time.

I felt sure running scared wasn’t my passion.

But the flavour was gone.

And I said nothing.

Drowned out by a million voices.

And the song tasted bitter in my mouth.

Until they were the only songs I could hear.

But I never stopped wondering.

Some day I’ll even ask.

And a million voices will speak as one.

And there I’ll stand. Waiting.

“River, we’re not telling people what to think,
We’re just trying to show them how.”