Timber merchants disturb psychiatrists

A cut above the rest on the brink

I’m tired of pills a voice not truly mine.

 

A SALESMAN APPROACHES HIS RETIREMENT

Jettisoned into play pouring from nylon skin

Just run away with the thoughts in my head

Traumatic frenzy incorporating fear.

 

Con-trails whisper piratical tales as

Mr Southern Comfort travels north

 

Go on line click on this click on that

This boring old fart has given up!

 

TO REACH BEYOND THE PEELING PAIN

 

Mr Southern Comfort with his tin body by his

Traffic light command post

Each breath a small gift

Demanding attention from the cosmic.