Who Are You ? – A Poem

Who is it you are beneath your mask ?
What task could ever crack its curse ?
Your persona;
Faceted as a chiseled diamond,
Distorting any glaring light
That could expose the essence below;
I long to scratch it’s stony surface,
I long to see it’s final end,
To put its tired smile to rest.
I wonder, if I tore off your mask
Would it be one of many layers ?
Layers, that work together,
Like soldiers in an army,
Prepared to be replaced ?
Let me catch a glimpse of You,
And see at last what is true.
On the meadow, let us lie
And let us dance until we die.
Show me every shade of blue,
That makes your sky so beautiful. 

High-Speed Rail – A Poem

A high-speed rail connects
The distant north
To the distant south.
We all are close;
Closer than ever.
Too close, in fact,
That it’s impossible
To get
Away.
Maybe we’d
Have been better off
With simple roads...
But why stop there ?
Let’s just walk everywhere !
But what
Would that change ?
The flaws in life 
Are fundamental;
Restrain them 
As we may
They’re here to stay
Forever
And a lifetime. 

Drunk – A Drunk Poem

I’m bored
And pissed 
The worst
Combination.
Someone’s talking
About stabilising
The drug economy
Which doesn’t mean
A fucking thing
To me
Because my drug
Is alcohol
And it’s royally
Legal.
There are seven letters
That mean more to me
That stabilising
The economy,
Perhaps,
And they are:
A
L
C
O
H
O
L. 

Affirmations
And opinions
Interject
Like two streams
Of piss.

No, man,
I don’t,
Care,
About
NASA’s droopy flag,
Or owning,
Spacesuits,
That are frankly
Terrifying,
For some abstract reason,
Like how
They look like
The Michelin man
Or something
Equally
Terrifying.

Im willing to bet
Against the man diagonally
Opposite me;
I’m willing to bet,
That he is pulling bullshit facts
Out of his very own
Faecal matter
That he just rocketed
Out of
His Ass.

Fuck this.
I’m done.

Life – A Poem

Life
Is a car crash
Outside of a motel
That you never wanted
To stay in

Life
Is a mattress
Where the sheets
Change their tone
Every day

Life
Is an ashtray
Filled by doctors
By politicians
And sheep

Life
Is a shark
In a tin of tuna
Mislabeled
As squid rings

Life
Is an audition
For a play
But one must guess
The script

The Peregrine Falcon – A Poem

As flecks of grey against weathered crags,
The pigeon flock glides over foamy sands,
They graze the gaunt, sallow faces of cliffs,
Contoured by eternal moss, untouched by sage hands.
 
The picture of patience, with mercy of man,
From heaven above, the peregrine falcon judges,
Determined, the avian magistrate strikes her gavel,
And so mortal fates are decided; no being grudges.
 
Hayabusa peels away from the clouds,
Guided by instincts, honed and refined,
With streamline speed and precise dexterity,
Prey and gunsights, perfectly aligned.
 
Death; the pigeon's ruffled feathers gently fall,
And sink like warships along the turbid coast,
The falcon feasts on her hard earned prey,
And the falcon's pride, a thing to boast.