How?
I’d say … strangulation,
Bright eyes
Sharp nails in Ducati red
Blue sky and fluttering sails,
An empty beach
Overlooking the end
Of their torrid world
How?
I’d say … strangulation,
Your eyes
Your soft hands caressing
My tanned neck,
We stretch and we extend
As unseeing eyes wander
In feeble attempts
How?
I’d say … any which way,
Any billboard, anywhere
As long as I can go fast
Across the plains of dreams,
Plant my fingers in the soil
Of the forgotten, sail further
Than before
You cringe as you read my words,
My ephemeral expression diverted
From a shattered self reflecting
Upon the rusty rails beyond:
A disappearing truth
And a tunnel unexplored
You cringe as you read my words,
My ephemeral expression diverted
To attempt to convey the frail,
The wanted, the tunnel of hope
If only with a single torch
Or by Napalm nausea wrought
You cringe as you read my words,
My ephemeral expression diverted,
The cracked mirrors of my worlds
And bleach blonde delusions
Laid bare without custard,
Clotted cream – or hope
I drown, slowly sinking, I drown!
No, never even realising
I entered dangerous waters;
Deep, deep, dark waters,
Troubled waters like tears
Of the Goddess of old;
Deep, deep, deep in trouble
As I find a self again caught
Perplexed and petrified
By a pair of eyes,
By a pair of lies
I tell myself
To avoid and to escape
What once was felt:
Memories of yesteryears
And Pompeii’s final squirt
As we laid there waiting
For the endless night;
I saw your eyes then
As I see them now,
Clearly and inevitably
By any standard irresistible:
I drown, then and there
Unable to tell
Unable to convey
I fell and drowned
For you
In you
Some buy tubs of ice cream,
I bought six servings
Of Tiramisù
To find an escape, and comfort
From the pain of close reading
Of the Romantics – finding all
Green and Pleasant among
Their Lakes and Trees,
While I hate the teachings
Lacking logic and common
Sense that I require
To fire on all cylinders,
So I revert to hiding,
Eating and enjoying
Everything
Else
I wear three crowns,
Three rings on my fingers:
Runes on right signifies the old;
A single Celtic infinity knot the new;
And the shadow of a ghost haunting.
I wear three crowns,
Three countries in my heart:
The old which I can never escape;
The new in which I am settling in;
And the one-leafed that will never be.
I wear three crowns,
Three hopes of a future sun:
Wells of ink to never dry;
Trees providing vegan parchment;
And a heart to find the reason to go on.
I cover myself in tarpaulin,
Like a fish out of water
In finer cloth, scissored
By merchants of fame
And otherworldly
Fortunes,
I cover my weary head
Against the onslaught of drops
Of drops, of winter wonder wet
Unfrozen: a hell in high heels
Never worn,
I banish my final daemon,
Like Lucifer - like Izrael,
Begone, be gone and never come
Near my world and blackened sun,
In white - the potent powder puff
In earnest a secret horror flushed
Like northern mosquitoes,
Silent killers hovering above
Wanting blood, my blood,
Beneath a tattered tarpaulin of old.
I wrap myself in tarpaulin,
My sullen head so sweetly scarfed,
I venture out into a world
Unwilling to accept me
And the ways of worms,
Crawling up through my fertile soil
To reach the light of a single star,
The last of a lucid night beckons
My final sin in betrayal,
To go beyond, to venture afar
Where blue pills line the pockets
Of manly men and the donkeys
They ride into their
Trembling towns,
I go, I set out, I head towards
Their lights in search of truth
And consequence of inaction,
Of distraction, of reactions
To anything close to life
Without a screen in sight.
Sometimes I find myself staring
At a screen, hoping something
Will move, will break the monotony
Of staring at a screen; the silence
Of a static screen blaring
White noise
White hope
White sorrow
In a binary world
Where only castles
Are made of sand
Where only the wee hours
Count towards my overtime:
Sometimes I find myself staring
Just because
I can
Unpredictable world:
Unpredictable words,
The flow of fickle letters –
Trickling or raging storms;
Unpredictable words,
Written but unpublished –
Unconsidered yet shared,
Regretted but too deeply nailed:
Crucified upon a polished pine
Surface.
Unpredictable world:
Unpredictable words,
The voice of the silent man –
Tongue tied and tired;
Unpredictable words,
Wanting but undesirable –
Unspoken yet longed for,
Ravaged dystopian dream:
Corsets and neckties
Spinning.
Unpredictable world:
Unpredictable words,
Unspoken truths
In hiding.
