you

unmasked burglars run into the lounge.
outside the door the soft corns sell
uniformed men on chairs with little sponge.
you see the sight but you can't tell,
whether it's the siren or the bells
that's busting your ears from hell.

gold lady drink whiskey but waste it more.
you meet her but manage to dodge her sight.
last time around she talked about Al Gore.
how he met his downfall with all his might.
the conversation almost got into a fight.
back in your mind you always knew she was right.

the cup looks bright but the coffee looks dim.
one sip of it and it blows off your christian side.
gotta finish it but the coffee's still up to the rim.
poisonous as it looks, ok just one big stride.
one gulp and all will be under your skin hide.
i'm as sure you don't wanna take the ride.

the old bookstore's just around the corner.
pick up a pornographic mag, nothing else to do.
they say all the books here are from one doner.
ok, that mag is sold in numbers of millions of forty two.
but there's also the Time and Fortune, now c'mon you!
and yea the Bible is also sold in dollars too.

the music is low and the statue is broken.
wind buzzes mildly on left side of the room.
the wooden wallpaper has a message but it's hidden.
Sarina's lonely ghost is about to loom.
the silver sidelights are on but they only gloom.
gotta clean the mess but you won't find the broom.

your honesty seems to have a stain of ugliness.
your admirations seems to have no decent admiralty.
your wealth seems to have its own kind of poorness.
your actions never seem to have any singled similarity.
your thoughts never seem to have any chopped diversity.
oh, you just seem to fall on the dark side of negativity.

files stranded and unstacked on your desk.
blue telephones ringing and left unattended.
holiday plans pinned up for Belfast and Budapest.
you sleep on the couch throw ties on your bed.
the notification papers' on the shelf unhanded.
so you pick up the plane for Europe but it never got landed.

my lunch with mr. henry

insanity has lost its mind.
moronic as the world i find.
johanna runs in an undefined north direction.
no, this cannot be a sight of illusion.
her pale tight hands reached out for me.
so for her i left my family tree.
now it's her fake face that i only see.

the drifter man, he travels with no pass.
his thin pocket too has run out of gas.
so he comes up to me, wears a salty smile.
'hey, will ya pass me your smoke for a trial?'
'sorry man but my baby, she's got a big mouth.
says it's a pain hangin' with me about.
excuse me, i need myself to smoke her out.'

down the station the cars never stop.
streets empty but filled with cops.
history broken into patterns here.
two nomadic lovers and few cans of beer.
there's a new park for people to sit.
the number of sitters have increased a bit.
tried going there but i just don't seem to fit.

she loved her stupidity, hated her brilliance.
had a voice that could crack God' conscience.
always wears a coat but never a pair of gloves.
knew songs well and filled up my music box.
i lost my track, my life became a threat.
red seemed green and green seemed red.
then she came in and pulled me out of the dead.

we rolled the dices of our lives.
dreamt dreams and she was full of jive.
she would pick me up for a dance or little.
to songs of the rolling stones and the beatles.
just when i thought we were perfect,
on the fiftyfifth night, she bluntly left.
married a junkie named henry if i'm correct.

the smell of the holwling traffic stinks.
the blind girl around the corner does not blink.
you make up a dry smile but it doesn't sell.
you can't feel the wind so your sweat swells.
it's awful enough to feed only your fat belly.
how foolish of you to leave her in the alley.
how i wildly wish i was you mr. henry.


matrimonials fills up the day's paper.
a gloomy day about to weep sometime later.
the lift moves with a ironic sound
ladies in the hall swearing to each one around.
me here, i bump the bed with a headache.
just happened to have the worst lunch break.
as if my job wasn't hard enough to take.