When your weapon’s wailin’ waitin’ on a one woman’s piece. A shift in dithers to slap your brain about right. A touch in tone intuit the intent, and breath accordingly, tears coming, I know. A little embarrassing between strangers but this is a meant-for embrace. Not a word exchanged, of course. You can’t be bothered and she seems the tight-lipped sort. Therapy. There’s crazed therapists runnin’ the streets out there. Just make sure and run into the right one, more often than not. Good therapy is great, and benefits strangely both parties, thus the entire enclave, in all of its enormity.

They say recovery is a big part of it, the training, I mean. Rest and recovery just as, if not, more important. So yeah, the old cliché, listen to your body, you don’t have much choice like. But here! Hear that new song out?

Got outta bed,
Coulda slept better
But I don’t even care
Cause I’m a real header

Woho, etc…

Good tune. Relatable like. Anyway, here’s a couple of wee poems and that…

Weeping Sores

Urbanity, my sanity
What has become of ye?
Crackled bark, a huddled spark
Sun-baked, flaking, from me tree

Urbane insane, a toiler’s truth
Has come of age as rotten fruit
And now, in truth, I sadly see
A spectre of what was sure to be

As for what lies beneath
Will you ask again?
And hammer your hands
And cut cocaine?

Let it rain.

They’re praying over you
In a building apart
Be at peace.

The beast remains
So let him lie
There’s better ways
To laugh and cry

So, long. Goodbye
At peace we part
Let the women mend your heart
At length, at last
Our final truth
The twist, at least:
A blackened, jagged, wisdom tooth

Ragged

Went for a walk
Late on last night
Just something I like to do
A city prowl
Walk hard and scowl
Take a look about ye is all

A stranger smiled
And I gave him
The best that I could muster
A hard man’s nod
And me the cod?
God Bless the boy who blusters

Blues born out of
Worn out shoes
Hard won wings
Wee frilly things
A golden glow doth God bestow
On those who chance the final throw