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Cairnal Thoughts.

Updated on February 23, 2010


Cairnal Thoughts


Buried under the facade

of dreams that tumbled
I crawl from the rubble

and build a cairn to

mark their passing.

Poets seldom find

the joy of being published
and wind up far too often

leashed to a pub,
smothered by black velvet

while chasing what ales them.

They scrabble words

from the tiles of a keyboard,
scoring little except a

release from their demons.

My path is littered with

the ruins of hopes built,
without the cement of society

cradling my words in their souls.

Thus I begin a new stack

of thoughts solidified
into some form of reality

until the last stone.....
my grave...... bids me sleep.










Thus I Was.......

....Promised the world
only to get an atlas which
was the devil's due,
its last page displaying
the highway to hell
that I'm bound for.

666 days until my
journey ends
but I will die famous
for what it's worth.




Tease For Two.


Talons and tea leaves

told me that psychics

are sometimes psychotic,
scratching out her fortune
on the canvas of my back,

as my divining rod

found wellness in her flesh.








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