Okada, the rag tag throng in the south
Of motorbike transportation business
Achaba, the northern name for the trade
Rides on rough and stormy city roads
Trap for broken bones and scarred skin
The morgue is where some make their beds

Carnage on our roads is no longer news
Check the obituary information columns
You will see what I really mean to say
So the government decided on a law
To help the learned and uninformed
An attempt to check casualty figures

i.

If ever the touch of my inconstant heart
leaves a trail of snow that must be followed....

ii.

From where dry leaves of early autumn fall,
a sullen shade of rust,
to raise my eyes to hear
the sudden cry of gulls on a grey-misted day
beyond the verse and impasse of wild geese leaving
shadows across the earth,

in the corner of a crook
there is an orange headed beauty
that kicks about in her scullery
all the makings of a fine dinner

seated near there is a man
who was made a boy by a
departure and so hung on his
feelings like a coat to a rack

she bustled down home nostalgia
from the boiling pot and
chop chop chop of veggies
making quick dissipating patterns

It matters not, how many times
a blatant falsehood is repeated
you can even tell it 'til your face turns blue;

it can never bring real comfort
in the long run, to any heart
because, of course; it never, ever will ring true.

On a cold day in october
'twas a truth I had to learn,
one so very stark, in it's own reality;

I couldn't help but let it "fester"
hurting the heart that is my own,
'twas relentless, and just wouldn't let me be.