If our lives are written in sport,
Endless lines that reach the nethers and tort,
In sympathy and affection; loyalty gone for the reasons of our team,
Are we not tropes of a wider kalideoscope
...
Countless cigarettes, they mark my time of mourning
Ash trays full to the brim emptied, they sign my lines of dawning
When the stress and strain evaporate
And my limbs are free of tension,
...
From out the Shambles, I first heard that tune
A Juke Box pouring forth its wine like nectar;
Of golden hearts, lost a bleeding, seeking
For what can never be, when whips reeking
...
In my memories I live in a thousand countries counted by unnumbered years,
Book spread they ring of an imagination redolent with vitality
Touched with the reality of tumescent afternoons
When in Malia I kissed the creten-Spanish sun,
...
If thoughts can kill, and deed
Through sufference of others displeasure
(Act as the executioners block)
Become the knife which severs
...
If the male to the unbilical chord
Is tied, an angler fish inside a womb;
Caught between weakness and devouring strength,
The duty of manhood and pity's tomb;
...
If our lives, seperate and conjoined are a patchwork,
Strung together with the stitches of sympathy, pain and steady resolution;
Laced together with the threads of a soul's threnody,
Tied with thoughts that belie suspicion,
...
So full of error is our substance
So many faults that mar the fabric
Unpoint its smoothness, crack its rubric
That know we not, alone, unaided
...
Sitting beneath the giant whitened spread
A silhouette on rolling Dorset Hills,
A phallus as cream as its earthen bed
Among the munching bovine sweat, that feels
...
My body in the West, its heart Eastward lies;
My mind that Eastward rests, as spirit Westward flies;
My flesh that to Jerusalem yearns,
By ignorance and the willing kiss of guile
...