Archive for all the stuff I call poems that I have written over the last 30 years and that I still continue to write, oblivious to the fact that they might be little more than doggawn atrocious in the eyes of those who might not know how to generate within themselves the bliss invisible.
Friday, 24 December 2010
Hooligan Deceased
loudmouth hooligan walking down the street wish i was tough enough to give the rough a mincing, or dark of heart enough to conjure up erupted grief in the after-death non-physical heart of him
