Hot. Steaming.
Potful of liquid golden earth.
A sip brings notes of roasted barley
and patter of deersteps across the forest hearth.
It coils and uncoils, a wisp of tranquil heat
down the bend of my throat
over the crevice-laced heart
mending forgotten muscles and tussles,
hustles the over-ground mill
that once again begins to spin.
And in the wind that trails its wings,
relish the scents
of winter,
and spring.


Land of No Seasons

Spring is who I first learned to love
Only sunshine and rainbows up above
Not too hot; too cold; but a perfect warmth
Sweet smile; sweet lips; she shall not be forgot

Summer is who I stayed with the longest
Way too hot; succubus among us
Wet here; wet there; shorts shorter than short
Heart or the heat? But man was she hot

Autumn is who I found depressed
With crazy nights and even crazier sex
Drunk on a drug, on time trapped in slow motion
Can’t understand my own broken emotions

Winter is who convinced me to give up
Shard of ice cool until it cuts
And once you’re bled through it’s already far too late
No escape from your pitch-black fate

And it’s a shame; it really is, for I
Never actually knew these seasons four
‘Cept for the tales passed down from distant yore
As a man from the land of no seasons


Golden Steps

At birth we are found in
whitewashed rooms; our
baby eyes caught bright
by shimmers in the corner:
the sparkle of golden steps.

With a baby smile, our baby
hands pull baby knees fore-
ward, only to be grabbed by
withered hands old and dry:
the hands of The Elder Ones.

As did the Elders before them,
they tell stories spun from the
verses of The Great Rulebook:

Touch not the golden stairs.
The warmth, the light are but
rancid lies, empty promises.
Climb them and you will fall.
You will break every part of you.

Young and afraid we run into
arms rough as papyrus. They
lead us to the Grand Machine
where we are turned into cogs.
Ka-chunk, ka-chink, klang.

The years pass in fast forward
blur without colour, scattering
the sands of time which settle
over the golden steps like dust.
We cannot tell the difference.

But don’t forget –
Please, never forget –
We all have wings no one can see.
They can take us anywhere, as high as we want.
As grey as they may now seem, those steps will always be our

Golden Steps.