poems

Sunday best

I pace

Throwing windows open

Moonwalking across rooms

Playing a jarring melancholy that hums along the floors

Staring back at my dry aesthetic

Ripping through cloth to find the right lie

Thrust in steam and scent

Molested with intoxication in older shades

Mona Lisa painting now

And then I pause

My feet forget how to pace

Standing high, jewelled

Breathing in the obscure lyric

Imagining a simulation

Where everything is the same

Except for me

And it looks so much better now

Quieter how

This is probably what Van Gogh’s left ear felt like

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my life, poems etc.

Outstation

We went like we came

With loud speed and uncertainty

But long walks and daybreak took us in

And with the sun we rose

Finding each other in the mountain air

And calm lakes from another time

Suspended in moments etched within rocks darker than night

We floated home on a cloud

And closed our eyes

my life, poems etc.

Smoke

The pink child met

Some purple infidels

And in them did she confide

But come sundown

Purple became brown

And rainbows ebbed into darker skies

With the pale sickle

Bearing witness 

The pink lit angry flames

Between porcelian teeth

And with each pull

The smoke swirled 

Within her smiling memory

Then come scarlet daybreak

She mixed with the Gray

And walked amongst damned purple 

Pink now gone 

The little fawn

Was devoured by the screaming lion

poems etc.

The election 

They won the only coin toss

Before the others knew how to play

And then they stood appalled 

From higher moral ground

Wearing coats with green lapels

Hints of gold in their salivating grins 

Preaching dreams only to tax them

In barren lands rain a sin


And yet the hollow people followed fast

The humourless constitution of the dream weaver

Afoot on a cloud above 

Lambs electing butchers as their leader


Finally they reached the alter

Their carcass stinking of despair 

As he perfumed himself with power

The illustrious illusion of order

Was only for the civic fair


And thus the carnivore sat on the throne

Lined by the hide of your forefathers 

While your flesh drops off your bone

The fat man’s dinner party a slaughter


poems etc.

Ballon

When he let loose

The enslaved helium globe

It drifted slowly

As if surprised and uncertain 
And eventually more sure

It changed it’s pace

Hoping to reach the limit

Of the free world
And his smiling eyes that followed 

It’s movements of celebration

Narrowed in sorrow

When the grey mist enveloped

And stole the only color

From a now bleak heaven