Shining threads

Shining threads

Friday, 7 February 2014

Random verses

Sadomasochistic memories.
She's a sponge. She's a syringe.
I take in. I push out.
It works both ways.

The way the cards were dealt.
The way the die felt.
The way she got up from the tomb.
The way she escaped from the womb.

Moments tumble into moments
and there is no beginning or end.
Infinity weaves its wicked dance
for sheer delight
and in the shadows we pretend otherwise.

The Wealth of Nations seems impoverished
and the sun has lost its sheen.
Everyone has their ups and downs
and fluctuating self-esteem.

Heaven and hell are concepts
jamming us into compartments
that have no real life
beyond what they dictate.
The waters cold I love it I hate it
I mean what I say
Do you not believe?

The race is going onwards
and my bed is rising
from the bottom of the river.
You make me quiver, oh you do deliver
and now the surface is coming close.
I've made my sheets into a white cotton ladder
and I'm ascending into my dreams.

The smile that spreads across her face
does not seem all that genuine to me.
One day you learn that not all smiles are equal
and that masks have always been in fashion
to keep us from guessing what is really happening.

The Devil says 'embrace the flames'
and I wonder if he is really all wrong.
The angels say 'let's play kiss-chase'
and the afternoon seems mighty long.

I write my poems
whilst music plays in my ears.
The way these lines
seem to write themselves
is encouraging
as I let go of my fears.

Darkness is nothing new.
Don't let them tell you it's
All lost in sin.
I'm a snake, a reptile,
an insect who sheds its skin.
I'm Dragon-Christ divine hybrid
and now nothing encompasses all reference points
and I chart my course, I dream my dream.

Blood is blue, blood is red,
blood is purple if you mix metaphors.
Remember, remember, the 5th of November, for
All is One.
The road to Damascus was enlightening,
but like an acid-trip I can't quite remember it well.
I recall a light and then it gets blurry,
perhaps if I walk again, it will return.

We sleep, we wake, we make rules and
           things are as they are.
Lightning comes again and again in the same place,
perhaps the lesson is there to be learnt.
Mountains crumble to dust and dust gets in my eye.
The world divides into letters
             - W O R L D -
5 letters shoot off in all directions
like a pentagram stretching us into magical realms.
The line realises it is a star - the human awakes to the divine.
My teeth clenched, I grind, anxiousanxious,
yet morning comes in spite.
In a bar, I feel a tremendous urge to fight,
to randomly punch some guy.
Maybe that is the answer -
don't fuck me, you get me, you know it, innit, hey, big surprise.

I kill flies, so far about 10 in my life.
I'm a murderer, homocidal, an insectopath.
And Jain monks who come second follow me
digging graves for each one,
and cry into their rice bowl.

The water-table is laid for dinner,
with frog-legs for starter,
fish for a main course,
salt and chlorine to add flavour
and green algae as a side.

Unblock the madness,
let the floodgates which
damn the holy waters
be burst open
and let the flow of freedom
irrigate our lives.

My mind has other plans,
my government want things THIS way.
Even my heart refuses to sit in the middle
but occupies a space left of centre,
the awkward bugger that it is.

Burn the books, fuck the books,
burn all the shit ones,
maybe that's right.
You have to do what you have to do,
to end up in a happy place.

See the rainbow subdivide.
See the colours separate
and go their separate ways,
so that neat unity is lost forever more.
Now on their travels they meet up randomly
and criss-cross colour combinations
make dulux innovations
and we have pop-up post-modern rainbows
that speak madness to the orthodox,
but we know what they mean.

The hill has gone under,
the valley is rising, it's true.
The poles have reversed
and it's clear now what to do.

We speak nice times.
We speak soft times.
We speak updown, we speak updown, we speak

They Dance. They Dance me. You Dance me. We Dance me.
Bang. Bang. Shoot me down so I resurrect.
Don't be cross if I step out of line.
Because the line-dance is over now.
The regular patterns are now defunct/derelict.

I pick up the doll. I smash the doll.
I built the house. I blow up the house.
I pull the trigger. I say when.
Trigger-happy. I have bullets for teeth
and the train is on time.

I step off my platform.
I catch the 5.34.
I travel high-speed now.
You get me?
Innit, bruv.
I travel the curved line.

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