Hunger pains twanging,
nauseatingly,
like out of tune bass strings.
Dysentery of the mind.
Neurotic Apathy;
now there’s a contradiction in terms…
but, when you cross the borderlands
into that crazy and confused
‘Land Of Empty’
you realized that Hell isn’t just waiting…
it’s gone and sent you a ‘Taster’
Scattergun thoughts,
trying to lead you sideways,
deep into the Muddled-Mazes…
it can sometimes
take a good year or two
to resurface from those strange places.
A Stray Dog is fluid and careful,
sticks to the shadows and back lanes,
does not ‘Sleep’ but ‘Rests’ only.
Takes what it can when it can,
storing nowt
which doesn’t fit inside its body.
‘Survival’ is a word
to be never taken lightly,
its true grip resonates
each curve and syllable
through the dirty marrow
of your itinerant bones.
Seagull swoop to rat-run to fox lay,
‘On Yer Toes’
until they are ragged and bleeding.
The Cold Grey’s of the Day
will blind you
if you dare to look too far ahead.
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