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Boskanna Way
his name was Joe he told me to meet him in a small street they call Boskanna Way when I arrived he told me about his plans to take over the world with his army of hookers
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BUTTERFLIES IN A SUMMER MONSOON
(It’s been a while but I think that I am finally finding it again) BUTTERFLIES IN A SUMMER MONSOON Gin Like the poor mans cocaine Fucked over It’s all the very same Sitting on a brick letterbox Naked In the wee hours Of a Morning
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Got a Light?
We went to the opening of the Adelaide Festival 2010 on Saturday night. It was to be a fireworks extravaganza. A night that would allow us to be the privileged State where we were invited to witness the greatest fireworks display ever created in this country. The same technicians who bought us the opening ceremony at Barcelona, the millennium fireworks ...
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Hit You Hit Me
So I had the most unfortunate experience the other day… Time slows… There is an eerie silence, no sounds despite the screeching of my cars wheels…
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Life by a Thread
With one hand gripping the cold metal rail behind me, my other interlocks with yours. I’m stretched to full extent and straining. I hurt like no other time in my life. Every muscle. My temples feel as though they have been jabbed repeatedly with a sharp instrument. I’m not truly sure, but I think I might be crying. Is that ...
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ONE PACK OF LIFESTYLES AND TWELVE BOXES OF NO-DOZ THANKS…
[re-post] It happens every now and again, you turn around to find that you have suddenly and mysteriously become an “option” for the bedding of the opposite sex. From zero to 100 in three flat seconds, fasten your racing harness and prepare for the “cocktailish” variety that suddenly awaits your tasting attentions.
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Whore in the Concrete Jungle
Lust careens a hardened back against the ragged and rusted wall. No scrapes no pain, just the enduring heartbeat of fleeting moments amidst a powering madness of the night. Mechanical crunches and mindless humming’s, the chatter of meaningless solutions feed deep to the moment, causation, excitement at the impending discovery of release. Gripping, tearing and pushing at the threads – ...
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Writers Block
[re-posted] I am here But I am not I can feel the warmth Of the caffeine as it Coates the back of my throat The smoke burning my lungs As I draw on the stick that Creates it I’m not sure whether the mumblings I can hear in my head Are my thoughts Or the dull sound of the television ...