December 2004

Egg at the High End of the Womb

 

Disembodied automation of a desperate

Fix for sex, food, drink, tobacco and drugs,

Narcoleptic sleep when eyes can no longer

Focus on the screen, no need for clothes,

Furnishings, drapes or carpets, just a chair 

And the occasional print pulled off the net,

Staring blankly into the same space darkly

As inadequate feelings of ordinary beings,

Attempting to break through the social task

Of mating, dating, and relating or at best,

Using the net to learn what works in reality.

 

Older women relinquish their experience,

Wrinkled bodies and emboldened kindness,

While waiting for their real-life-mates to learn

What to do in order to make it up to them.

 

If only the hopeful would go on to educate a

Generation, free of inhibition, frustration and

Ignorance, the egg at the high end of the womb

Would not agonize between heart and truth,

Nor require a cheesy metaphor to reach in, 

Touching the face of one’s private enigma.

Christmas 03

 musician's look at the symbol

New Year's Gig

Christmas ?

Christmas 90s

Christmas 00 

Christmas 01