No. 68: The Ballet , 1983

There was an old man form Calais
Who was hell bent on learning the ballet

When he attempted a spin
The ceiling caved in

And burried him under his chalet .

No. 69 :Moving Nowhere ,1985

Humid is the afternoon
With steaming beads of sweat
I set my sail

On concrete oceans
Filled with mist
And cardboard lies

And hopes that swim
Around my mind that splash
And fade and fade then die

A 60 m.p.h nomad stripped
Of my belongings yet
A mere possession of theirs am I

Alienation ; A punishment
For the curious painter's eye
For the afflicted poet's cry

For those that see and are seen
By themselves and knowing it's futile
Continue to say:

'The spirit clothed in flesh
Is all that counts '
Enter my fellow man:

And that too
A substitute , secreted
From a turpentine gland

And if you're really a man
Rest assured ..
For I am your fellow, man

Alone in a prison cell tonight
Both for small and petty is the cry
Mother Earth perpetually spews

For thy neighbour
Has not loved
His closest

Ulyssese the merciful
A young boy it was
That branded you cruel

To the island of Ithaca The waves ride me now
Back to the summit
Where the sea breaks the sand .