POSSIBLE REPOEM

i must have expressed before

in the spill of pub table ash

corralled by spent matches

maybe

or 

on a paperbacks flyleaves 

left in a green field

i thought was a cold steel rail

how i cant tell 

zen from madness 

or 

denial from a medical high

& how the rub & nub & oomph of it

is if it really matters

but i am sure of this -

i still find it poem

to difficult an end well

HALLUCINATORY OVER CROSS

the damp fog and thick dirty tide 
of 
daylights waking dream
and
the slow dry chalkboard scream 
of 
helpless night-watches
are
experienced with twisted spirit/dim-thrill resignation 
that
turns medical curse into dull adventure
struggling on and on over toy obstacles
for the soft treasure
under
the
machines rainbow

its
a 
fabricated masquerade of limbic automation 
and 
coffee

punctuated

by
visions of maiming and murder/burning and abuse
real as french existential thrillers

and

the care glow of citrus hands