My Latest Poem

'Third-Leg District' Bulldogs observe Mice play without strict ID and curiosity do everything it can to kill. Mad stream Drool flows into the canal and will never meet coral but would be more than cordial if it did They easily spot the tiptoe-rust on the high-heel strut below tip-top shape. and whimper over the mess that's made.

Mr. Kavanagh knew the scoop!

'Memory of my Father' Every old man I see Reminds me of my father When he had fallen in love with death One time when sheaves were gathered. That man I saw in Gardner Street Stumbled on the kerb was one, He stared at me half-eyed, I might have been his son. And I remember the musician Faltering over his fiddle In Bayswater, London, He too set me the riddle. Every old man I see In October-coloured weather Seems to say to me: "I was once your father." (Patrick Kavanagh)

My Latest Poem

'Annoy Rodent' I was born with a big head It was all downhill from there. My mom is rereading and My Dad is an iced-moon. My sisters are lacuna aiding and my brother is army-broken. I was primarily educated in the 'Ah Lord' school and currently reside on a covenant-rod with a Wife whom I declare holy. I'll die above a fire that they'd cook any rodent on on a trendy noon

My Latest Poem

'Ageism Elf' I've never had a fenced icon in the place I exist yet i'll take any exit with my tiny axe and my Crane net. Red neurology and a heartless nap! The ideal tut. Where the untitled go.. Away from any part of the map! with hotel porn and lemon port paid for with Taxi-Yen, that's as good as anything here.

My Latest Poem

'Raga Man' Eating pasta on a Futura flight and I bet that some of the sardines are both up and air tight. Grind Ink into the canvas. Drinking faster than I have before or will after. Tea. Gin and Tapas, that was dessert, served by the stewardesses, in a sedation tin, above pastures and above the thug-pit.

My Latest Poem (Draft)

Eating pasta on a Futura flight and drinking faster than I have before or will after. Tea, Gin and tapas, that was dessert and I bet that some of the sardines are both up and air tight. Grind Ink into the canvas Above pastures. The stewardesses are trying to keep me upright.

My Latest Poem

'Feet Fight Foes'

If I ventured outside
I would immediatly find ways to soften the blows.

No need to reach the stalk
They come to me.

My insides show that anyone is welcome to my tenure.
I've been where they've been!