Bound

And I’ll be dust to dust bound to,

Shifting black wicker furniture just so,
Patrons aren’t disturbed,

By the rain between,
The hair-do and the pedicure, separated

At least,

By three floors if the lifts are working, me I’m just
Splashing mops against mauve tile, they

Flashing manicured smiles, we

Electing marvelous politicians in fashionable leather,

Leather of the season, bound

To let us down in Range-Rovers, bound
To coffee machines spitting frappuccinos, just

Hoping for a tip to pay my damn school fees.

Photo: ♦Psychology Today ♦

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Dicks in Space Suits

UNEP, environment

Dead beetles die in their skins, and

Seychellois, Mauritanians, Maurtians, Martians,
Fighting with sun-tans all, and

Bad lip jobs,

In Nairobi,
Silent giraffes groping for love,

God,
Tending to antelopes,

And the world ending
In a traffic jams or,

Dicks in space-suits building railways​ through the heart of a city.

♦Photo♦ Friends of Nairobi National Park

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I lost my shoes in India

Religion, reincarnation, representation

 

sweets on a plate
empty tuperware

lens cleaner is,

What we took to bed.

Red he says, but he’s deaf,
With earphones on,

Police frames and Louis Vuittion,
Cardboard handbags,
And perfect lips,

Peach by the way, like
I said, I

Lost my shoes in India and the Geisha wasn’t real.

 

♦photo♦ – Hyunception: Movie Reviews & Analysis

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Living on a Prayer

You punish me for telling you my fantasy,
At night I lock the door so no one else can see,

Watch while the queen,
In one false move,

Turns herself into a pawn,

It’s like-
Drinking gasoline to quench your thirst until there’s nothing there left at all, I

Went to the doctor I,
Went to the mountains,

And then you happen to bring up reincarnation over,
A couple of beers the other night,

Spitting out all the bitterness along with half of my last drink,
This is no ordinary love,

Refrain!
Come Oberon!

Able only to gasp at the splendor of the sun,
Come satellite!

Saturns rings are lit by the Universe’s light!

For Simon

Photo – ♦Natsumi Hayashi

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On gender based toiletry

poem, gender, toilets

Attack your assailant with the baguette,
You are carrying in your hand.

Soft weapon.

Transgender toilet,
Beat the crap out of the hoodlum, male
Or female,

Black or white, think
Not you must explain,

Why, during the attack
Men should not wear,

Flaming pink knickers, demand
The sex of the person approaching,

On the dark night,
In the lovely cottage,

Be determined after you have finished
The mission.

The lady so obviously not,
In the red heels,

And the blue make-up

Knows how to use her baguette, just
Do not touch her strong leather hand-bag.

PictureViewpoint♦

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Cancer

decade_45pierreholtzreutersyeehee-com_2010_12_16_best-pictures-of-the-decade-the-noughties_.jpg

I’ve lost the use of my heart,
But I’m still alive,

When you cannot find the people you walked through life with,
You are still alive.

I hear voices and want to talk to everyone,

The hustler and the prostitute together in fur coats,
The glowing car salesman,
The mechanic,

Audible to me all,

The rat at the corner,
Selling drugs,

I’m crying everyone’s tears.

Photo♦Pierre Holtz for ReutersBest Pictures of the Decade

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Dying is the first race

20170110_1541431

Never mind Lawyers,
Children with no mouths,

Never mind Inspiration,
Write Now.

Photo – ♦Personal♦

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