And here's something more...

...A small bunch of a few things I wrote at different times, in different places, as I drifted along different planes of thought...

About a bus:

The 171 is a familiar bus

that I often got

when I was in love;

it took me from one place

to another

to a next,

both early and late

though I travelled,

I remained never scared

for happiness lay in wait

for me, in her bed

and the person

with whom so many

times

I’ve shared.

About a girl:

There is an odour

that drives me insatiable-

a ravaging lust

that makes one bego all calm-

the typical expectations of decency

are lowered,

because there is no

more perfect time and place

than now.

I think to pry;

to find a place to rest

where I might just gently lap

at the sweet secretions

from the walls,

none but I or the gods

could tell you where ambrosia

were to be found,

but it were to always drive men mad.

The body is a beautiful thing

if tended to, properly;

with light nurture

and a kindling love;

it grows, blossoms,

springs…

There is something to lovely

in letting it grow the way

it was always meant

to be.

About a chronic headache:

Fingering a twitch

on my temple-

the pulse beats finely

but firmly-

quite proud-

it bumps underneath

as the blood beats around

and drives deeper

a pain in my skull.

And it feels it’s been aching

for weeks

Picture me Dorian

I'd been considering some of the things I'd done or been doing recently, and I hypothesised for a while on the hellish fate that was likely to proceed from my misdeeds. If one were to know that they were destined to suffer forever, would it be worth being any different, or do you just continue to do the things that elicit your constant burning? On top of all the aches and pains of my body that have all been physical, I've caused a great amount of emotional pressure to boil and evaporate through tears, laughter and misplacing my effort to 'preach' lessons of a better and more effectual life to friends and strangers alike. Through all of this I've had to feel nothing but empathy for the civil society who had to share this elucidation of mine, with me, on the trains, or the bus or the streets, and even, in some instances; their own homes. It's been a queer two weeks and in which I've only ever been assured that I had felt always so very peculiar.
I wrote this as I began a slow transformation, though I never ceased my own changing to take in the lesson

One must stop

doing such things;

they take from light

and submerge us

in darkness

and into the Gray.

The rot of our souls,

our steady decomposition-

into mortal Sin

shall be expressed

in our faces,

our minds

and our gait.

In sickness

and in health.

Uxbridge

I went to a party last night; it was a rambunctious affair and the faces of the majority of guests appeared to blend and merge like puddles of oil. One man looked alike another, their shapes and posteriors morphed as they moved; to compliment their natures, that were heated and libidinous and aggrieved the cool night air. I went on a journey to sojourn  with the company of others who were ill-fitting upon myself; my friends and I, remaining ever debonair as we transcended sense, and in the days and nights before I read Keats.
Hyperion taught me that the Gods could feel a magnanimous sadness, I wondered if the Gods, being what they are and capable of so much more than man, could feel so much greater the sorrow; being that they experience so much greater the loss. It took me to become what I was not, to see what I could not before see; and then I saw the stars and life for all it was; which was nothing more than an inebriated ride on a train to a place I did not know.

I heard a wasp...

Or, at least, I thought I had. It fluttered below the mattress where I lay, though my partner confessed she could not detect the sound that raised so much curiosity and anxiety within me. I searched for it all abound the room, under objects and down the sides, and though it always sounded so close, it never came into sight.
   The next day I was back at home and that night as I attempted to sleep, again I heard a wasp. Such treachery. And so, I penned this...

Hear that?!
It is the sound of a wasp,
both near and far-
an inevitable threat.
Hear it in your head
and flittering somewhere
under
or inside your bed.
Perhaps it is the sound
of my inevitable end...
Hear that?
Or else...
I'm losing my mind.