wot a beautiful if hazy monday

the birds are twitttering

the swirl of peak hour has passed with

litle to disturb my hours of rest

and all that awaits mi fingers

is the tapp of keyboard to colour

to rest the sequence of risidue

and spray the colour of the world

into a biotech wonderment

green is the colour

red is the number

silver is solace

and rosemary remberance

of al;l that has passed

betwixt our last meeting

and the one to follow,

give up the goss

and dont be afraid

to get skanky.

luv and woolchips

j

treacle and a dream

splash across hands,

rivers of equity

divide at equality

branching to form

an estuary

for our eyes to meet

and flood these arch

andeluvian plains,

till i pour

cup by cup

these waters

into their

solitary

confinement.

And treacle

is the spice

in the rivers

name on your lips.

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As for the evening

when the willow of tomorrow

bekons through a silver portal

and lives parade, fashioned

to square with the unallayed

fears and grotesque

malladies of everyday detritus,

and paralle universes hum

detuned, detoxicated,

flipped incrimson saturated

yellow conundrums

and a sprong of the dial

reveals the secrets

'of wast'rells lives

i wonder, as i do,

wots on tv

me or u

my place or

yours

either way

vodka

rules.

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with mi hed

bangin

like a corrective services

minister

at a prison riot,

or phil ruddock

locked in a

cell with

a twelve year old

refugee,

i await the sooth

the toasted cheese

bliss of numbness

to engulf these flames

and extinguish

this marcarbe dance

of hellish flotsam

mascarading as vision

sight and sound.

Too many splinters

of black tarred guiness,

one two many drops

of crimson falling

from grapes of wrath,

just a fractional

overdrawing of the nectar

of the potato,

and topped so gently

with a liberal dosage

of the fragrant

jaimakan parsley,

has led me to this

loaded dog of thought,

I'd pray for deliverance,

but a panadol

would suffice.

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georgina

her body a wisp of

heaven filled to overflow,

her lips the traffic

of intersecting rapture,

and then her smile

alight in the evening air

as we shared those

moments and let our

eyes reflect in each

others whims,

how long have we

known each other

without knowing the

others name,

knowing the others

beam of light

or silence or spring,

and n ow we do,

what road do we

traverse to reach

our place of nature.

yo mmmmmaaaaammmmmaaa sita

well my drink laST nite was v/good, spent most of the evening with the beautiful G, stepped outside shared a spliff and smiled as lot at each other. I mite have a small chance with this beautiful creature, as while I no she does enjoy the company of women (and u no how i mean), she also is not adverse to the company of my kind (u no wot i mean again), and as most of the women i have gone out with have bin of a similar ilk, this is good. Oh well the fullness of time shall resolve these differences for me. I do l;ove the company of beautiful women, for a thousand and seven different reasons, staring at thier tits is only about half of those. Ahhhhhhh, bliss.

luv and tree huggin

j

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no 1

And what of me,

this crust of flesh

wrapped in tissues of dopubt,

entwined inside this cavernous

bubble of xistence,

I sleep and dream

of wishful fulfilment,

without the courage

to turn these visions

to pillars underpinning

my world,

I doubt my sorrow and sensitivity,

my creation and demise,

my hand will ever hold anothers,

my hart will live to breath again,

I doubt I'll know a new day,

hold a child as mine,

become as one with the universe,

or know the reasons for my pain.

A journey begins with the first thought

of a road, obscured by clouds

and ruts worn smooth on feet

to blinded by that automatic voice

which proclaims that all roads

have been travelled

and none, in time,

will leave their mark,

I doubt that rivers flow,

that time ebbs,

that sunshine rides on murmering breezes,

that reflections disapate,

that the beauty of a smile is destined for me,

I doubt the air inside,

the water glistening in the shower,

the temper of steel,

the resilience of blood,

the hand

which

rocks my

cradle.

No2

see att> this is a protuberance out the side of this email.

cornflakes n cream

jefffffffffffffff

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its so friggin early

the sun has not done its pushup

friggin well yet

and i sure as hell wish it wqould

the fat ol sun in the sky

is failing, its lazy assed

sweep, and it dont need to

do friggin well much

just hang and friggin well

gloat

you bastard with a limp

you crunt of a hydrogen bitch

how did we survive the last iceage

when i can barely conceal my contempt

beneath these bohemoths of goosebumps

and then

and then

and friggin well then

at dawn

i gotta work

clucking bells

its too early

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hey, how ya doin

sorry ya wurkin too

just another pome

add it to the number

but this ones almost through

its difficult preachin

when preachins posturing

and passed at the post

when nothins conjuring

more n' words

n' words r'n't wise

jus stuttering

verbalized emotions n' grumblins

spent n' spilt

till this lines over

n' broken lines r lightbulbs

shinin' on wurk,

so humbling

so hey how ya doin......

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and if the methodbe,it is to conceptualize,billings as the answerop citto overcrowded uteruses,and cities of the wombfilledded,and catholicis agiltfree base condomreplete with a teardropdroppedfrom a pinto puncture procreationscarnal abyssand let me into heaven, babycoz itsbetta yaw life be concieved by a miss,than it bemisconcieved.i prith thee thanxand gudknight