eyes cast out, adrift at sea. horizon's shadows cloud heaven's plea. penetrate dark air; train my sight. unbearable ocean, in the foreboding night. vessel lists in saline swell. i'm not so sad now, after all... seeking happiness, settling in sadness, exploit my time, as tears confess - and the sea envelopes the careless times, unfocused and fettered alone, alone, mine.

THE DROWNING ONES In these drowsy blue-green lands of sticky nights somnolent breezes that sigh over warm, sleeping skin and a sun reluctant to rise from its cool marine bed there live those chosen to be the Drowning Ones For the first time, at the age of one the child walks the beach a shy, delightful meeting though the sea is always eager then attendants retrieve the giggling child trying to capture gulls for a perfect drowning takes time … By five the Drowning One wades in to the knees and calls the sun Always, an acolyte attends at each side, strong and tall one day of listening to t

The highlight of the evening is Bolero.
The snare drummer begins the famous beat,
the marrow of the land of the torero.

The players, who have sprayed themselves with Deet,
ignore the insects swarming in the light or lighting on the scores.
The music’s bite and lyric passion build each bar,
with singing strings, winds, and brass — while buzzing bugs seek meat.
One gently touches down and starts to eat blood from the snare drum player’s nose.
The stinging clings like a picador’s sharp lance of worry.

How can he stop to scratch? His part must never cut out.

Hey kid, I swung from that same swing that you're swinging on years ago. Hey kid, I stargazed beneath that same maple tree years ago. Hey kid, I graduated from that same high school you've just graduated from a year ago and I've felt how you've felt. I know how restless you feel, how scared you are of what's to come. But hey kid, one thing that's certain for not only me and you is that we'll always make it through whatever it is and this too will pass. So hey kid, go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day, don't worry about time, it'll all work out, trust me kid.

We were stars and then we were supernovas. Exploding a billion-billion lightyears away, forging the fabric of our eyelashes, veins. Sometimes I think that you and I must’ve come from the same star. I feel it in the way you hold my hand. They fit just perfectly, as though recognizing one another as a long lost whole spanning lightyears and lightyears of empty space.

Embalmed in the formal hides of man a light takes refuge a fallout shelter composed of the fragile bones of death as a cosmic clock ticks down to the next bombing of the mind everlasting assaults whip the conscious into line events foreseen yet never predicted can cause a sane man to feel demented a pick axe chips at Excalibur’s rock will darkness smother before the sword is drawn?

Let the world know to whom i belong, for my eyes are hers and there lies her beauty, she is as dazzling as the moon, brighter like the morning star, her voice reminds me of a beautiful nightingale, her eyes glittered so as her smiles, the smoothness of her skin like that of an electric fish, mellowed under a tender light. let the world know to whom i belong, for her love is enchanting and there lies the beauty, of the caresses and kisses under the moonlight, and the gentle touch throughout the night, the sweetness of her lips over mine like the taste of red wine, of the alarm raising of her

After that dream in which I kill someone or someone kills me, I start to see the Green Man: his leafy face, his clothes of vegetables and vines, his foliate head carved in an old church door and in a bookplate, oak leaves sprouting from his ears. I see him in the supermarket, thumping watermelons. He sports a mustache of asparagus. At the beach, wearing seaweed boardies, he hangs ten off the nose of a shark. In the restaurant, he chomps celery stalks, his putrescent jacket covered with lichen and mushrooms.

I’m gone. I’m long gone. It may seem like I’m here but I’m sure as hell not. I’ve been stripped down to the very last thread of happiness that has kept me strung together… And you were the one who unraveled me. You left. You’re gone. Therefore, I’m gone, too. But everything doesn’t just end, it fades away. A car has to slow down before it can stop. To avoid an accident. To avoid a vicious collision that can affect the lives of who were involved And can even end the life of one. Well, my brakes aren’t working. I’ve lost control of the wheel.

Has only ever owned one hat, but repositions it on a daily basis. He tours according to the phases of the moon. He once brawled onstage with a two-ton upright piano– the piano got up on a nine count that was really eleven. The index finger of Tom’s left hand is a tuning fork. He wrote Innocent When You Dream inside a derelict Ghost Train. Tom was cast as one of the original Dead End Kids, though his scenes were cut from Angels With Dirty Faces, the negatives burnt in a wicker man then buried in a landfill near Ghent. He was kicked out of the Rose of Tralee contest in 1984 for lacing the judg