I no longer live with the memories needed
to partake in the shadow dancing of man
I no longer recall the urges driving my senses
to join in the merry circles of youth
I no longer crave nor even desire
anything but peace of mind
a quiet place to lay my hat
somewhere shaded
beneath some trees; maybe
only wishing for those memories
that made me; me
one day to return
for judgement
I think I am
loosing my fracking mind
about to
loosing my fracking mind
throw
loosing my fracking mind
the baby out
loosing my fracking mind
with the
loosing my fracking mind
bath water
loosing my fracking mind
again
behind the last door
a naked clown; wryly smiling
a bowl of whipping cream; rabbis dancing
and a scythe; swinging
behind the last door
your final words
will be
try, trust and
undeniable lust
Is it too late to discover
Is it too late to find
a thing to love,
a purpose among the stars,
not just counting the hours til the bell tolls and
they lower the coffin
into the ground,
Is it too late to discover
Is it too late to find
that elusive catch,
a fish not swimming away
a flow to go with
until
until…
until the dusk turns to
night
when your love runs out, and
you can see the rope swinging
let the humblings take hold
ignore the urge for bleeding
her devotion might be fading
but the Lords true path is waiting
… or so they say …
those with faith
I say stick with what matters
let the fingers do the walking
explore your inner talking
until the end
I care not if you dislike my writing, or my feeble attempts thereof
I do care greatly though, when it tickles your fancy, awakens within,
something of old or ultimately young,
I care not if you label, ignore just because
as long as you heart that which raises your
pulse
I recall a painting, made at primary school
we drew our heads in perspective
using black ink or water colour
black heads then lined the walls for weeks
radiating evil; ….
I ever since have hated
that shape of head portrayed
the shape of head remaining
as dark today as then
atop of sloping shoulders
my darkness you cannot see
the painting long since shredded
the memories of childhood though;
remain
trying to be normal
making plans for holiday(s)
not a holy day
but gawd all mighty what a toll
it takes
the sky to fly
the home away from home
the road less taken in a car
of dubious making
the choosing of the date and then
the moulding of the cake
trillions of web browser tabs
of my choosing
and in the end
the lingering doubts
that maybe this time
will be no different,
a last minute cancellation
making these
stressful times
a wasted
effort
I do not like planning much
thinking ahead of what might be fun
doing
doing
doing sweet FA
is what I like
doing
doing
doing zilch
and thus you brand me
a boring
fuck
