Wait, there's a little more...

Before I start ploughing through my weekend workload (writing training material), I must start planning my next batch of hobo tours (Warsaw/Krakow, Marrakech, Beirut). It is also time to bow to the inevitable, and restructure all the poems into a series of mini-collections. One of them will have to be about the joys of jacking off. I guess i'll have to self-publish that, perhaps on absorbent, bio-degradable paper, and leave copies in Central London phone boxes - that's one form of guerrilla marketing.

Anyway, I sign off with one for the election followers, fibbers and the generally self-absorbed & deluded.


'Fibbing 101'

What is the biggest lie?

Is it that Santa Claus exists,

or that storks bring neonate bliss?

Perhaps Muppets are real,

and Cookie Monster has no belly to conceal?

Maybe it's that which stirs a patriotic roar

on the eve of yet another distracting war?

It's possible for it to be the mist

that conceals the misplaced and much-missed, but

then again, it could be the lie you perpetrate on another,

sacrificing guilt-free slumber.

I think not.

It's not the lies you take or give.

Rather, the biggest lie of all

is the one you live.