Poem abot death:

I don't go into bars
to talk about poetry
I don't go into bars
to talk about aliens
I miss the angel and the night
and the morning child of God
has slipped out of my sight
I don't go to the library
to see if anything
is written about
these things that I kinda doubt
I have my little high of the simple things
Industry is an alien
and work is out of reach
a poet of the 21th century
my tales are sad never merry
And if there is a Queen with family
I wish her the best and a bit of eternity
a rest in peace like some hours at night
before I wake up to coffee and the morning light
Dream on they sing in the UK
I dream of love but I am too far away
from the madness of a relation deep enough
to remove these urge to wander on my own
My destiny has been kinda rough
lost so much and I remain alone
Grandmother's out of this life of ours
and with death in power
I am microbic and free...