Afterthought (side B)

He lay on the bed and watched the clouds out the window.
With closed eyes he felt the storm.
Vibrating the hairs on his skin like ghosts passing through.
He buried himself of course, there on his bed.
Sinking into the sheets like a body into a grave.
He was dead from the waist down.
Waiting for the little chalky helpers to plunge the skull.
But the water he felt was from the rain, which tapped at his brain.
Droplets of doubt and remorse.
Tidal fantasies of being swept away.
Yet forever he would lay, in that state of not doing.
Making love to paralysis with the sweet relief of excuse.
He died three days ago, yet still he talked.
Arguing with god, cursing the devil.
Gnawing at the skin of self in a heated display of shame.
He’d known death before of course.
It rattled and moaned around his house since that day.
That awful Tuesday when they left.
He had grown new skin. He had tried to begin again.
But death remained a friend, like a wad of gum stuck in his soul.
He blamed it, he shamed it. He cursed and versed in vain to it.
It was there now, the sad spectator to an actual demise.
Apathetically sweeping up the dust, like one would make a bed.
That bed which heaved with the weight of his guilt.
Throwing out the dreams that played on the ceiling.
While the nightmares wormed underneath.
That bed which was his last embrace now.
Peppered in petals that masked the thorns.
Intimately feeling its way underneath his skin.
And swallowing him forever, in the dandelions of demise.

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Save yourself/serve yourself

Now that we are so anaesthetised.
We settle for blankness.
Without any compromise.
You suck the soul from us every day.
Filling the void with countenance and suspicion.
Such a beautiful paradox, what a time to be alive.
So lazy by design.
You wear the masks of the familiar.
Cutting the ties that bind us to our future.
And who are we to utter, the silent stutter into separation.
Your IS desperation to keep us scared.
There is no oil here, only pits of anger.
Bubbling to the surface.
Such disturbance now at the house.
The roaring of a mouse, of a nation who were followers.
Now numbering the chorus that’s out of control.
Democracy hangs in the air, like the miasma of the 18th century.
Fogging London once more with a noxious distaste.
We all wear our own tin foil crowns.
Crunching the bones of despair.
The Fear of standing for something.
I am but one of many, lounging in my paralysis.
A self-inflicted state of disconnect.
Waiting for the numbness to arrive.

Lifting

Vanishing points appeared on the ceiling.
Little holes in my veins.
These little deer that course through the bloodstream.
Looking for the forest from the trees.
You force me to close my eyes to a world so hung in regret.
Precarious, like a spun sugared spider web.
Catching daydreams and ideas of escape.
That lifting.
Yet submerged in a dream where the walls crumble like chalk.
A hallucinatory step into monumental design.
Copying my name into the book of the dead.
That book that I read, where fate can be altered.
And we can change the path of time.
Which now forever ticks in my head, as I swallow each new morning.
Choking on the aftertaste of yesterday.
Lifting into a dream.

Up on the ride

‘So, you will change today.
The lights you so frequently cover will begin to shine again.
The pathways you trapped so blindly will start their purpose, or disappear.
The drastic decisiveness that you must learn to inherit will make its first cautious journey.
Upwards, into your inverted perception circle. I would like to be your friend.
Life, a gift you so often squander is precious, as it has always been.
And faith, that I have hidden, still sits above your head.
So pull back the morphine curtains, go wash and purge those demons clean.
Today is the first day, as they have always been.
And today, dear you, you will begin to love yourself with joy.’


Guillemots:Up on the ride

Opium for the soul

I feel no pain. I feel nothing.
An uncomfortable numbness itching in my bones.
How your lips bring about such devastation.
Apathaites my heart and bubbles my blood.
Oh the sweet bends that rush, twisting my insides out.
You are the opium for my soul.
The novocaine for my conscience.
Which constantly waivers into unstable territory.
You keep my ghost steady as I walk this earth.
Getting high from the lows you put me under.
Feeling flight as you watch me crawl.
Love, such a compromise anyway.

Your pilgrimage

I love your silver dressed dreams.
Darlings, that call us all to look.
To peek and prod in an unforgiving time.
Hook your hate around my hand, thrown in the bag to drown.
Kittens, pebbles in your pocket.
You call this your pilgrimage.
A racing stumble through our great beyond.
But that was where I found you.
Heaped and tired, all covered in stars.
Can you walk the line?
Can you take some time to change?
Wrap this love around you heart, swallow and then re-arrange.
Your pilgrimage.
You deep mistake.
Your breaking through, my privilege.

As the city sleeps

Still waiting for the big revelation.
Be prepared for anything, but do you still believe?
Dreaming of big distractions and carbon copied lives.
Left with diamond headaches and pills to make you sleep.
Don’t sleep, dream. Let it in.
Kick start that desire that you are just as good as God.
Good as gold even. Counting zeros on a monthly slide.
They call you the king of commodity.
Hanging on the end of the line.
Hanging onto anything.
Smear the sugar on your lips and catch the bees.
Be prepared for the sting.
Close your eyes as your tongue lolls over.
Cityscapes and supernovas.
Mercury swinging in to shift the traffic.
Allowing you to arrive more easily.
Sleeping another day away.
Swimming in medicated decay.

Jesus jam (Satan’s saliva)

That Octopus, that alligator.
On heaven’s brow, god’s travelator.
Tipping the scales, licking honey.
Bring all of us such milk and money.
Sipping on sweet lemonade.
Cherry wine and razor blades.
Who’s in danger?
Who’s in hell?
Count those cell phones with tortoise shells.
This computer says we’re many things.
In need of love, and diamond rings.
Error. Escape, with all the wrong friends.
Beatnik bars and downward trends.
Smile if you think we’re happy.
Laugh if you think it’s trending.
Gatorade, work alarms. Good times never ending.
Pack your life now in a suitcase.
Sadness in sardonic typeface.
Wash away those bruises with beer.
Turpentine and celebrity gear.
A neon fog to dull the senses.
Lowered expectations and all defenses.

Bag of bones

What is left to discover, underneath of another?
Slipping their hand inside your dreams.
Blink and they’ll hover, laying oily fingers upon you.
Dripping into your world.
Turn you over like heroin.
Underneath those clothes that hang like a skin.
They’ll slip within, and caress your soul.
At least that’s what you believe.
That’s what you’ve been told.
A smiling, nodding bag of bones.

SHELL OF IMAGINARY IMAGINATION

Strange little threads that are held on to.
Causing commotions in my morning coffee.
Sinking feelings that cut too deep, simple systemic exposure.
Buzzing like the office fluorescents, dialling a tone.
Naked and running. Leaving myself at home.
Heaven bubbles in my veins, blowing blooms along my spine.
Disturbing the herons of this mind.
Take me down to the water.
To the catacombs of the happy, were they hoard their treasures.
This middle distance, which keeps us at arm’s length.
Puts my past to sleep, and rip open my mind.
Something so obscene.
The devil can dip its fingers in my soul (if out of sight).
A sunglass reflection in the mirror, which at first seemed so close.
Cut the distance and pull the cord.
Curtain calls and swallow whistles.
Finding me alone on that wondering star.
Flying, down Mulholland drive

World is spinning (旋转失控)

Electric vertebrae, tasting the wavelengths.
Calling out on the ocean of time.
Feel it pulse, shimmer and shake in my bones.
I Saw it in the I, Ching.
Consult, consult, confer.
Disturbed state of mind.
Eating black ice cubes on a whitewashed day.
Soaked in the rain of the juniper tears.
Slipping into each pore, devouring me once more.
Oh that little friend of mine.
Dropping plastic swords and fighting to stay alive.
Now in a trance, and feeling it once more in my heartbeats.
The kick drum of immortality.
Dip this moment in bronze, and tie me to a plinth.
Whispers, all around like welcomed sound.
Dripping once more into cosmic dreams.

Home of the naïve

Disentangled child, cut from the spangled banner.
Speckled in manna, and the god they trust.
As unique as a snowflake.
Beyond the dawn break, of a new and troubled ice age.
Call me on your cell phone.
Buzzing in neon, and a blood point too high to tally.
Covert the freedom.
Sensibilities you need them, as the world cracks and crumbles below.
Oh say can you see?
Beyond all the misery.
There is a land open and free, still waiting for you.
Topple the gods.
In a system at odds, which crackles with such hellish flame.
Pledge allegiance to the drag of a drug in your veins.
Which splits the world and mottles your brain.
Until you die and are reborn again.
So proudly you exhale, a revolution of love.
And a change that cannot fail.
Splattered in white, red and blue.
Be strong. Be courageous. Be you.

Pepper and papaverine

Keep my image in your head.
As your bruises turn to yellow.
As the pain subsides and the chaos falls down.
Your post-blue tiptoe through the poppies.
Licking the petals as they brown in the sun.
The cold light of morning blankets us both.
Glittering off broken promises and the whisper of regret.
We turn our world for another rotation around the central star.
Angels waiting to tear inside you.
Reparative cells bonding with my inclination.
To heal you and us, in a milky star shaped pool.
Pick the debris out of your mind and take my hand.
These explosions you are seeing, they are only clouds of uncertainty.
A falling disease, defeated by love and the heart that we call our home.
Hang you head to the side and listen.
These sweet words of supple saltitude, savouring the sublime.
Triggering happy thoughts and novocaine in our minds.
Wash it down. Sweat it out.

There’s nothing wrong here

I wore the role you wanted.
Dressed in those emotions.
Let it drip like turpentine.
You showed me your Jesus scar.
As I cut through the confusion.
You leave me buzzing like a motel sign.
Only you could scratch me that deep.
Rush through me like amphetamines.
What did they say when you returned?
Did you make it feel so numb?
Feasting on cartilage and present tense.
Yet the dark offered such shelter and shadows.
To call you back to another brilliant night.
Where you looked ahead, seeing us there.
Stepping over the bodies of others.
Look me in the eye, celebrate me deep.
They all wanted to be wrong.
Singing their symphony of sorrow for a loss that had not yet begun.
Bone and cheek.
Questioning our mortality as you trim the fat.
All conquering weirdos.
Destroying the things they never understood.

The Ends of her world

She tried to save him on that day.
That day, when the coffee stained sky folded.
She reached out in her own way.
Only for her hands to turn to stone.
And her mind to dust.
A cruel trick of fate positioned her.
To watch his demise from such a vantage point of safety.
Silenced in an eternal knowing.
While a tempest raged in her eyes and mind.
So she threw it all back in time.
Crouched under her bed until the voices left her.
The thuds on the door and within her heart.
While the vines creeped up around her veins,
she erased all that she knew.
At least she tried to.
And she disappeared into the rains that came after.
Leaving no trail in her wake.
Chasing dragons by the flooded lagoon.

Enabled sleep

Lay me down with the tinkling of glass.
Those little fellows with their chalky mouths.
Grinning at an untold joke.
Keeping their euphoria to themselves.
The night suffocates, yet refuses to devour me.
Leaving me bitter and longing for sleep.
The jealously of the slumbered ripples across my skin like the cold.
It happened today, wearing my tiredness on my sleeve.
Welcoming rest and dreams within dreams.
Yet it won’ come.
Like an un-landed flight, I circle the skies in my lumbering state.
Creaking the fuselage with my tectonic groans.
Swaying in the night sky full of stars.
I manufacture a restful condition, listening to the world settle.
The universe put to bed and still.
They return, mother’s little helpers with their permanent smiles.
Swallowed down. I’ve been so high.
Aloft yet well-travelled.
There is nothing wrong now, I just needed to believe.
Dive into that waiting white surface so cool and clean.
Landed. 5am.
Grounded.

Stanley

Stanley wanted nothing more.
Then a pair of new trainers, like the boy next door.
So he went to the shops and emptied his pockets.
But some coins, a tissue and small toy rocket.
Could not amount to the high priced brand.
And he was asked to leave by the security man.
So Stanley went away for a while.
But then came back, with a cheeky smile.
And he stole those shoes, from right under their nose.
And wore them home, in such comfortable toes.
But alas, this was not the end for Stanley.
Who began to steal more things, which made him feel manly.
He moved on to televisions and peddling dope.
At only 15, he was beyond all hope.
Of ever being on the straight and narrow.
Hitting the underworld, fast like an arrow.
So don’t surprised if you come across Stan.
Shoplifting in Tesco or hot wiring a van.
For if you try to talk him, set out a plan.
He’ll flip you the finger, and steal your gran.
(Crime doesn’t pay…always)