through binding subtleties
my chords vibrate
reverberate through
your emptiness,
through binding subtleties
I play the strings
of the fool as you
fulfil the role of
queen,
through binding subtleties
no harmony combined
could outshine my
pride and your naked
desire
on country lanes I cycled
through childhood years now fading
in the middle, fresh grass grew
wheel track limits was
all but nothing but
flattened hope of moving on,
escaping the world of parental control,
breaking chains and tearing down walls,
the future was
in my grasp,
as long as the lanes
kept coming
as expert in deception
I fool myself oft,
telling tales I say
swim yet drowning
a habit I abhor,
as expert in deception
you hear my lies
yet smile and bow,
wanting only to show
your undying love and
wilted looks,
as expert in deception
the calling of truth
abusing trust and
misuse of power
I care little for
those accusations
frequently blasted
through speakers
uncommonly placed
between the heavens
and your puckered
face,
as expert in deception
I will survive
not matter what
not matter where
not matter when
I decide to go
swimming
another drum, beating down
a cheating heart in blossom
another drum, beating down
calling for forgiveness
another drum, beating down
a death in an ageing drama
another drum, beating down
their silent voices howling
another drum, beating down
the icicles of youth growing
another drum, beating down
the wheel of hope spinning
and spinning still
in the absence of clear thought
I revert to calling myself
George
in the absence of clear thought
your stare amuses more than
scares
in the absence of clear thought
I am a boy in a boat
going fishing
in the absence of clear thought
your drinking habits
I inhereted
in the absence of clear thought
would you be proud of me
I wonder
green eyes and
red hair, I
dream of her.
each night a
silent movie
plays, black on
white yet I
know for sure
her eyes be
green and the
fire in her hair
is calling me
there
I came out – a writer
a long, long time ago
I came out – no lightning
in a language, fading slow
I came out – dreaming
of healing a broken mind
I came out – hoping
my words could mend me
I came out – a writer
the dream of hope still
alive
the fear of feeling anything apart from safe drives my life and my numbing exercises, the excessive consumption of nectar, the carefully interwoven patterns of fondling of self and the hours that remain – sold to whomever pays the highest, the avoidance of all else is the price I pay – to feel safe
