Sa turd ay

I dont know. This isn't a poem. Hello. Anyway, I had to go to this really fucking cold house a few weeks ago, it was so cold it was kinda funny, in a really horrible way. but yeah there were flashes and apparently light hit paper and here it is:



I dunno, i like this picture a lot. Silouettes are amazing. i wish some how we could all live as black outlines, and yet have all the connotations that people see when they recognise a face. But thats just dumb.

I cant fucking write and its pissing me off.

You know why I can't fucking write? It's because of numbers.

I'm not a numbers guy, so when someone tries to irritate my writing, by telling me i have to write 4000 verbs, nouns and adjectives, it all goes wrong and suddenly it's all about the numbers.

And the only numbers with any soul are 4 digits long.

You fuckers.

God damn...

Just a babble

And I dunno,
I know he's a wanker, really,
i do.
But that time on the bus when we had a nice chat,
he was a nice guy.
Everyone has something good deep down,
hopefully.
And i dunno,
what they said about me,
or what they said about you,
but im sure they were just protecting themselves,
because it's something they do.
And i dunno,
what she did tonight,
maybe it could upset me,
but I hope shes safe,
really i do.
And i dunno,
Just a babble.
Nice shoes.

Roof

honey slipped roof, down to the dead pan wrattling gutters,
green in plastic and moss, old pigs strutting,
rippling fat rolls of cash from dealers,
Fairies dancing to the sparks of their dire flints,
Kids with tongues for madam sugar,
Poor honey, only misses me,
Nothing to do with the grin of ga-ga land.

Ring around his finger,
Chain around his heart,
His pocket full of posies,

We all come down.