Shiver

me walking up the parade

flinch for tomorrow

for every next day

move without watching

he stares at the sun

rest may just follow

when all this is done

(14.09.97 While travelling in a bus home from work in Vancouver, Canada I passed a naked man with long hair and a full beard walking down the street with a pained expression on his face. I thought of him and wrote this poem)

The unguided hand

Walking with you

This evening

Morning

And still

Everyone is different

But

We are all afraid

Of being blamed

Most, all the time

Knowing we all love to take our parts

From the crowd

A private bureaucracy

Sold off in separate lots

Chipped away from a big ole block

Now running separately in function

They found one piece depended on the other

So we're trying to glue it all back again

(Written 14.10.96 while working for Signaling Control UK that was one of several privatised companies spun out from the British Railways)

Brains left the building

After reaching a critical mass

The intelligence was replaced by rhetoric

And somewhere along the line, equilibrium

Maintaining the status quo became sound

It was decided, there's nothing else to learn

(Written 14.10.96 while backpacking in York, England)

Small room

Small door

Old lamp

Large shade

Room, real I think and clean

Past lingers

Cool and warm

Another door leads in to the mirror

And our reflections before bed

It rains outside

And there is the smell of breakfast

Tenderness

Do you own your thoughts if required?

Can you purchase my suggestions?

I already sold that one you asked me about

Just the other day

Under foot, in bag

I hold the thoughts still tenderly,

Now they are in my hand

In this noisy world

All

I

Want

To

Hear

Is

The

Sound

Of

My

Voice

(15.05.1997)