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Mécanique De La Solitude


All alone after pollination
Having relieved my aggression to the air
And gentle towards you now
Nothing remains but despair

I think of getting drunk
Like I think of suicide (So there!)
Or my present state – alone and emptied
Any way I can hurt you without appearing to care

… Hoping you will find out later
While beneath the gentleness, feebly, I think bad thoughts of you
Though you have not done anything
Just accepted me, as I asked you to

Dissatisfied all beknown
I wish to hurt you too
As you hurt me by not needing me
Desperately, as I need you

Dreams Not Real (Dreams Not real)



If sex is magic
(And who are we to question?)
Let us explore it

The Plan


One thousand golden days
Ten thousand sparkling thoughts
Spread out here before us
At least that was the plan

Masque Balls (Republished)


Waking dreams, flights of fancy;
mind’s eyes bright as phantasy,
conjoined twins wax ecstatic.
Tripping lightly the old fantastic,
“To battle!” both genders cry,
as ladies, painted, bustle slyly by,
caught up in nature’s rapture,
discreetly intent on decorous capture;
while line on line of plumed hussars
– Theirs not to reason why – give forth huzzahs.


Musings on the mating game.



Passion runs
And ruins
our lives

And refuses
In equal measure

Pirouette And Parody


What tawdry melodies
What over-frequented bars
What cliché-laden notes

What lustful desires
What spiteful tricks
What fearful denials

What we choose to call love
What a grotesque ballet
We turn it into


 You are invited to draw your own conclusions.





Plays out Don Juan trope
Imagining them all his
Spends his life dreaming

The slippery slope
Into desire’s abyss
And ends up screaming

Madly In Love (Repost)


Her life redrawn as a comic strip … sans comedy.
No longer that dynamic duo. Batteries flat.
Bats in the belfry, robbin’ bewildered senses blind.
And … adrift might best describe it. Hooked, blind and snookered.

…..(He is the one?)

Even lying beside her, not truly here, he lies
oceans away, behind cold fronts, lines of icy bars,
biting winds, squalls of temper, hurricanes of contempt.
Comforts herself with poetry and sweet memories

…..(He is the one!)

that turn to nightmares where he’s drowning, calling her name.
Then she is there, reviving him (mouth to mouth, of course).
Waking to find him gone she recaulks her leaky fancies,
sets her sails for yet another day tacking upwind.

…..(He is the one!)

Eschewing havens, but never her hope, she soldiers on,
soiled sails reduced to tatters, she rows from pole to pole,
trawls the seven seas. Her treasure? Nowhere to be seen.
He has unfurled his true colours: the skull and crossbones.

…..(He is the gone.)

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