Veering to the Right


riding the wave of anxiety

from where I cautiously swim

almost submerged by circumstance

I see lines of marching men


from all the four horizons they come

beating drums, goose-stepping in tune

{breaststroke, butterfly, backstroke

breaststroke, butterfly, backstroke}


and still they keep on shoving

mermaids out of the way

there is no space for frivolity

in a world where everything is for sale


there they are marching again

on the crest of our fears

stomping all over our freedoms

{no freestyle, no freestyle, no freestyle

a patriots Australian crawl}


and secretly I’m frightened that

there is no place for me at all



Copyright May 2017

The State of the World


nasty little stench

a side product of the capitalistic process

conveniently everyone pretends

that all smells as sweet as roses

even though the decaying corpses

{afterthoughts piled high on roadsides}

overpower the ability for reason

or even compassion



Copyright May 2017

Fighting Fear


something inside me relaxes

enough to let the bats unfold

preternatural claws against my chest

ripping flesh and bone to shreds


I hang on to my dignity long enough

to seek the comfort of solitude

the moon reflects benevolence upon my bed

the bats refold their wings and sigh


they will only fly in dreams tonight

gripping tight to my unwieldy thoughts

feeding forcibly on fractured memories

tearing fears into small undigested morsels



Copyright March 2017



It’s quiet tonight

as I sit in my armchair and write

behind me the door to the garden is open

but I do not sneak a look

would that I had closed the door

and pulled the curtains across earlier

for then I could pretend

that the zombies ambling along from side to side

were in someone else’s garden

and not waiting to suck my brains

when I close up for the night



Copyright October 2016