Graffiti

the brooding

malcontent

with paper cut

heart

stares at a wall

of graffiti

and thinks

I could do that

so he picks up

a spray can

unleashes

his feelings

in dribbling

white letters

fifteen feet high

his blood

becomes molten

his rage is

a torrent

of years

without voice

a scream

to be heard

...

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As the last drips of rum

slip from glass to lips

I feel the heartache

of pirates and poets.

The anchor is raised on a ship

setting sail for foreign shores,

whilst my glass is raised

and tipped once more.

An empty glass,

an empty bottle;

this is the heartache

of pirates and poets -

to feel the ebb and flow,

to be the empty vessel

on a...

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