all we’ve worked so hard to be

love is a masterpiece

written by an avid fan

an apostle’s appraisal

of the work of a master hand

so come on home darling

‘cause I think you ought to know

where it’s all heading

where we’ve got to go

‘cause we’ve worked it all out

limousine is waiting

pack your bags and make your face and go

limousine pic

and you know

that now it’s our scene

all we’ve worked so hard to be

I’ll be spending much more time at the playhouse

I love the show

we trade our guns in for shoes

make sure they’re well worn

trade all our money

for apples turned orange

the world is our oyster

its bawdy intents

so pop in your Kenmore

let agitate and rinse

and pieces fall out

but pieces fall in

keep pieces in palm

let crust not come sin

the light that we hold here

is a foolish delight

it leaves lovers abandoned

if not ready for flight

pour me forth you nothing well

she laid her head on the tracks

may she never come back

her cheeks were white and sodden

she would never know why

getting there

was no hindrance at all

as she cast her face of wonder at the stars

she had walked the waving rushes as a child

cornucopia encompass memories compiled

my world is fast and fleeting

these days I fast no eating

when they asked for the demon we complied

all the world ever wanted was to die

stream-line rumble

whistle whilst thou scream

I recall a door


it stayed

I walked away

as these gears they pull me closer

in dynamo squeal

pulling master ever closer

forget my name

no regrets

I guess

it’s all the same

pour me forth you nothing wheel

nothing well



some genuine reminder for a soldier

soldier pic

there was a soldier in the midst of some old fashioned dungeon.  Amongst the scraps of paper and old diagrams he came across a cassette tape.  Pocketing it he tried to retrace his steps.  He knew he should have drawn some sort of map; used a string or something uncoiled to retrace his steps.  His sense of direction was always misapplied and now he was barren.  Thrown back through countless missteps he could never make heads or tails.  Bearings never gave him credence.

He had been separated from the others for hours now and there must be someone wondering about his whereabouts.  War had its intrigues but sometimes one comes searching for more than war can offer.  He blanked at an unfamiliar door.  It was lucky that his light was reliable and the batteries were new.  Perhaps he should have better planned this expedition, but then he might never have come.  Dust and cobwebs were everywhere.  Untouched for years.  But there, fresh footprints, small.

He made his way through, more or less randomly wondering at what this place was ever  used for.  Dungeons must be much different now-a-days he thought.  Probably not even called dungeons anymore.  But he was sure the remnants of them could be found throughout the office buildings and accessories of so many modern professions.  Dungeons…

What little child came down here, and for which games or hideous hiding?  How so much was left behind was a mystery to him, and made him wonder what had been removed, and why?  The air smelled fresher now, and he felt more familiar.  Back to day light and duty, official tongue-lashings from petty minds over his pseudo-awol behaviour.  But he had done the majority of those things asked of him, and thought he deserved at least this.  He need not know everything from those places he visits, but only wished to take back some reminder that was genuine.  Perhaps some voice left behind on this square plastic in his breast pocket.