Undone v.II

But you’re stuck

Again.

Watching the caught up Sun

come undone

for you.

Watching it strip

itself of colour

and cry

for you.

And wash

out the sky

for you.

But you’re stuck

Again.

Watching the colour ooze

from the easel

from the earth

as it gives birth to excuses

for you.

From the sea

from your poetry

from you.

from me.

Till all you see are

Fleeting glimpses of the nothings

that flash

through the peeking spaces

of closed blinds

in that timeless space

where you’re ‘trying’.

But you’re stuck.

Still.

And when the Sun flicks the switch

and finishes itself

You’ll lay the blame

on somebody else.

So that you might find

yourself un

stuck

for the shortest time.

Recycled Diary Entry #1

A good mood.

Smiling.

Trying to sleep.

Then pictures. Crying. Blood. Weep.

Tell myself I’ve misunderstood.

I AM happy!

So why?

Curse. Gets worse. Children dying. Screaming.

Dreaming.

Switch the light on.

Shared bed.

Shaking, scared.

Very late. Wide awake.

Try to sleep.

Pictures.

Bodies moving.

Breaking. Wasting. Exhausting. Holocaust. Gas mask. Straight back. She.

She.

Sh-She tries to calm me.

Pictures.

Us.

A beautiful room.

A big fireplace.

An empty face. Severed head.

Single bed. Rotting corpse. Staring upwards.

Staring.

Staring.

It’s in my head.

Sleep with the light on. T-shirt too tight on.

Awake with the light on.

Too bright. Too much.

Too dark to sleep tonight.

Undone

But you’re stuck

Again

Watching the caught up sun come undone

for you.
Watching it strip

itself of colour and cry

for you.

And wash out the sky

for you.

But you’re stuck

Again.

Watching the colour fade from the earth and then from the sea
Watching it fade from space
from you.

From me. Till all you see are

Fleeting glimpses of the nothing

But you’re stuck.

Still.

And when the sun flicks the switch and finishes itself
You’ll lay the blame on somebody else.

So you can find yourself unstuck

For the shortest time.

Recycled Lyrics #1: Time Piece

Cassette reels to CDs, still sealed,

I’m not listening, I’m playing

loops, chasing after you, worn out

shoes, and you’re lost looking for the next route.

Friction sores: losing the wrong war.
What the heck were we fightin for?
for weak reflections from dirty windows
willing it on,
turning time,
never watching where it goes.
I’m never letting go

Oh
Please don’t try
and shield the rain,
play me
my favourite song again.
It’s inside my head.
Crocodile tears, empty threats.
We know trying wont ease the pain.
I’ll just stop filing my scenes with rain,
There’s no more original imagery
anyway
Tomorrow is today
take the silver
spoon from my mouth,
and I’ll find those cotton clouds
someday.

When you feel your wounds
won’t heal. You turn
against the loyal troops
that learn to drift through
and miss the cues, just wandering
Wondering how best to lose.

Take a turn on the oars and do all your chores.
What the heck am I crying for?
You’re praying
that the minute hand slows
turning time,
never watching where it goes.
I’m never letting go

Oh please! Don’t hide behind the rain.
Put on that happy song again.
It’s inside my head.
Crocodile tears, empty threats.
Lying wont ease the pain,
so stop trying to catch the rain.
Spent too long willing that the limelight shows
Tomorrow is today
Take the silver
spoon from your mouth
and you will taste those cotton clouds
Someday

The clocks
ticking the gun
shot the others
running me
not

Oh please don’t try and fight the rain.
The world just turns around again.
It’s inside my head,
right?
A ball-point romance and an empty bed,
crying won’t switch on the night light 
It may be hard to take the strain
the pain will never outweigh
knowing that tomorrow is today
but take that final word from your mouth
and you will feel those cotton clouds
Someday.

Chairs #1

Down the trodden out alleyways
And immerse yourself in splendour
Walk the streets at the death of days
And call for a wise word vendor
Beseech his lines, excrete your crimes
And summon a boasting scrounger
‘Am I who I am? Who am I?’
Said the confused Barcalounger.

I. Carcass

burns, it burns.
it shone through.
body gone. Face new.
cage open, wings are back,
fastened to my unlocked back
Asylum for the Fictionally Insane
somewhere branded on my brain
BURNS. IT BURNS.
haven’t been there since
Take the shot
bite down,
check wounds,
rinse
.
.
.

Hand-me-down Sunshine

borrowed shapes

               shuff

ling,

              limp

ing

above earth,

                                                      escape
ing

like stems,

              reach

ing

to a glass

          cei

ling,

          find

ing

 light 

for faces
they will never see.

A Green and Red Christmas

Red faces drooling over the table,

and nearby, basting, shoulders hanging loose,

the turkey time displaces, unable

to save itself, and my neck is a noose.

My morals cling to umbilical cords,

unstable. Bells ring that I should stick to

green veg playing chicken on chopping boards,

fumbling round fat and wild slaughterhouse goo.

It’s Christmas, and mouths stuffed silently bleed

thick gravy over worn out serving spoons,

make spaces for empty wastes that they need

to later dance, dolled up in poultry wounds,

and vulture the corpse they’ve misunderstood

– the anxious artifice sweats soya blood.

261194

.

From the sun lounge I see It suffocating, masked with prints from sweating fingers;

I, in safe solitary contentment, sip whiskey in the depths of the Barcalounger.

.

Debris cartwheels round the remains of It, a cosmic carousel of splinters,

of covert cold war creations and the last of the American dream.

DJ Kessler’s desolate shriek is on repeat through the toxic fog.

.

With fading memories vacuum packed into photographs

scattered around, I sit in slippers and dressing gown.

Today is my birthday, and It is going to die

with us final few flung deservedly off

across the distant candle light stars

and I’m blowing them out

I’m making a wish

as we drift off into

.

the wasteland of

.

Infinity