trans, nerd.


March 2014


The city gates are locked to me,
A wanderer on shattered knees,
No matter how I beg and plead,
The city gates are shut.

Standing by for hour by hour,
Mood deflating dour, more dour,
The city’s gates remain shut.

A study of the gates reveals no lock,
No rust, no chains to break with rock,
The city’s gates are shut.

Bash and smash and scream and thrash,
Threaten deities until hope is dashed,
Give in, lean on the gate, relax,
The city gates swing open and I fall through, peace at last.


Season of Change

A turned back can turn again,

An enemy may become a friend,

If one day we would talk

                And we could listen

Then common ground might be found

There follows coexistence.


That returning orb daubs warmth
Ice retreats, we smile.
No more hiding by the hearth.

11:18 Stream

Looking outwards is a vision of sadness,
Looking inwards is a portal to madness,
Someone’s keeping the secret of gladness,
So fuck it, stop trying so hard.
This morning’s the same as another
New memories, old old regrets
But all washed away by familiarity,
Fried eggs and cigarettes.


Lacking inspiration, stumbling
Fumbling, shambling through
Day after day of same after same
Stammering, hammering home
Pointless, worthless words
Jumbling to describe
The fog.

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