Cowboy Killer (6th January, 2009, 2.24pm) He strode in like a cold wind blowing through my mind, words slung from his hips like guns, bullets ready for firing; deadly, silver-tongued ones.

It was around the time I'd got into debt buying Marxist literature. I intended to sell it on, without profit, but couldn't even give it away. Nobody believed in politics anymore.

The aftermath of a love affair.

A poem of evaluation

A poem of release

I think of you and smile, And all the while, Shouting down the phone. Getting in the zone. I begging to say When I meet you, nay. When I hold you I want to say I love…

The drug induced experience now so prevalent in society It is an experience that cannot be denied The experience however powerful is not the experience of true abject reality