A rebel without a clue.

Can anything be truly described? Language is an approximate thing. Florid words, a simile or metaphor Alternatives struck from a Thesaurus ... To be a witness doesn't require requisition. Yet we are very wordy persons Where quantity and quality are licked.

A great day. No idea what to expect. Frightened of the size of the arena and the number of people in that narrow confined space. Explained me to the people meeting and greeting. They assured me if anything was needed only to ask. The Ashes. First time I've willingly gone amongst crowds and crowds. Got into the party atmosphere. Threw red wine all over the couple on the row in front of me when I took part in the "stand-up" chsnt spreading from the Western Terrace.

Chaos Disorder Not belonging Towers pointing. Pavements brutalised Paper dropped reckless McDonald's mustard Fag ends, disproportionate. Splattered chewing gum Dust fallen on a Disregarded world Fires burning, Cigarettes harming Look at this? No lichen crawling Only hands scrawling. Pretend to sweep And polish the thoroughfares. Respect? Aretha Franklin... And I feel nothing but barren. Hopeless. But wasn't hope in Pandora's box? Pessimistic. I am a half empty person. But the GP says "don't let the bastards grind you down!" Throw me a buoy before I sink.

Morning breath (I yawn) While a thought malingers On supper's recall. Another night's over, As coffee steams And crème creeps, Before the daily grind. On Infirmary Street, Facing eternity, Drudged with nonsensical pills. Observing footfalls On demented faces; Chasing fleeting ideas - So hastily departed! Seeking a future free of strife, Yet immersed in routes of Death, Marching to a predictably hollow beat; Untrue, Feet follow feet. Confused before a dreadful image Afraid at the total lack of control; Blinking back tears, All I ever do is join the line!

I yearn to go. To flee. To become. And to stop waiting, waiting, waiting There is nothing to seek There is no way here The Way is a beacon And it's been put before my feet. When least expected And arrogantly clueless It was revealed to me The rest of life pales In to meaninglessness. Backwards and forwards, Shuttling, Without a lingering smile. There could never be an answer: Just more needless distractions. Then I glance outside the window And am drawn moth like to another Not known, never knowing I draw a blank expression As she scurries back Formless as the bus motions on. Protect a rose from our thorns Barbed creature! Snatching, Greedy palms, upward, And tearing love To replace with tears.

Feeling opposite Standing across Staring in hope Always apart Indefinitely positioned Sometimes desperate Otherwise frustrated Another time willing.

Are narrowing concept. Isn't everything cancer? Inertia? Nothing is! Stopping is never a reality. My true self prefers another existence. Yet, here I sit watching the slow twisting. Many scaffolds dangling upon Reelled out unending lines, Where their feet hang twitching. Why? To visit those condemned at the moment of their mortality. What is that? Or to go follow them to a graveside - freshly dug - stand head bowed. Death mustn't be at all! Don't you see? Thursday's steps are truly a stampede Of the slowly shuffling: A plague of never ceding feet; Unknowing That they hover before a crucial footfall. Decisions are made. Is this the waiting room? Is this purgatory? "Please take a seat" And we'll deliver it. Death is our service Striking off the moments. With a faux smile Pointless spoken words "Are you well?" Wetherby: Meso A place unchallenged perpetually stepping; mundane! What is death? "It's nice and c...