A man spoke to me on the corner
and asked my to a really great bible meeting.
I replied, enthused
"Does Jesus talk to you too?"
Yes, he said, all the time,
"Oh great I said, when do we start?"

I have the guns and bombs,
we kill the buddhists, muslims and jews
and blow up unholy abortion centers!"

He back-pedalled, dissembling madly and ran,
I was confused, for a moment, then shot him.

Pass me that bloody Sparrow
I will wring words out of him
Let me walk on hot coals to feel the heat
Or walk in the desert to feel thirst.

Why can’t I sleep the hours away
To dream of good things today
I tried to smile but I couldn't win
All that showed was a sardonic grin.

You make me cringe at horrors I see
I couldn't feel sad, or reach out with pity
What the hell do you want of me,
Leave me to languish in my misery.

there once was a girl
who liked to watch colours swirl
while dripping paint in a twirl
she would adjust light to compose
the wavelengths of her depicted prose
in shades and hues of an equal dose
to reflect, absorb or replace
when soft bristles tint the white space
her acrylics splash in grace,
the spectrum of her mind
such vivid images to unbind
and esoteric answers she would find
forth from the glass prism

I can't give you pristine white
my dear poet,
you pissed on it
when you had your say
and there's blood on the ice
from head wounds
words you
clubbed to death like baby seals
on the cover of National Geographic.

The morning comes interrupted the night
this unholy war
into the heart.

Only one songbird sings into the darkness.
And that is enough sometimes,
isn't it?