Hatemail, fanmail,
junkmail, loveletter
coming down, off a mountainside
of soiling thought
that festers, branded in famished brain
with sounds of talk, talk,
feels like I haven't read
in months, it's only been
two blistered broken days,
I will awake, seconded to none
but the nothing, can the nothing
remove the past? Rap,
intense, helpless thoughts,
harbouring me into a crib
of self-loathing, burning bridges,
unaccompanied, this pain
of pains beyond all pains, all in
my pickled, melting heart,
squirming, with it's whispered
hollering, so hushed, so desperate,
so hungry so closed, uphill
yearning with feathery power
time ticks by the hour, but hear
me not in my concaved shelter
of convenience, let out,
ripped, one more for my
internal road, and another as I lay
my load, this prison my home,
of cruel pavements and
switchboards, electrostatic
pin codes left forgotten, rotten,
as my thought, do you
hear my cries oh my, oh my
three string guitar, do you
telepathically tweet-out my
tiresome calls, lost hallways,
closed entrance, no theatre,
my mountain top is where
I shall stay until I change,
or you receive me. I have
come down. But back up
I shall stay, waiting to play,
with dice and Sailor Jerry,
Serengeti blasting, discarding
blessed day,

for it is here upon
this mountain top,
I intend to stay.

H.Math