Black lips sipped on plastic straws

From cream skimmed figures crated, awaiting an hour

Figures of dire fates in a freudian fantasy presume an alluring eye that might hear a Siren and see sirens flashing a future of assumption concluded in a dreams mistake.

Black lips drip white with activated intolerances and lactates

shameful little monkey mans fear of swine and mothers milk.

Refrigerated in corners and capped in silver, red and gold

They gave us free milk at school and it made us sick.

Haunting our ambitions to be on the gravy dripping trip

whitening a way to heaven as blue eyes peer down

upon our inner loathings as we peel the

sweated sheets of white fears off our conscious thoughts.

We roll on beds of agitation and stomachs churn with bile

We are caught between day dreams and grandurs behond the pale.

Across tracks made for iron or chains to pull carriage

shunted life along lines of state roll on rails of ghetto spied fate

Machines can opportunities too menial and tinned for the ignorant of plight.

Beginnings in prisons of want and aspiration skew worths contorting right.

I see me looking back at questions I am not standing in or over.

Seeing that path ahead curves off around a bending nowhere.

Cascading dreams flitter off without focus on directions.

Into traps smeared and sprung cages hold progresses motion captive.

Pressurising pains of failed rewards for tolerance endured

like carbons contained to inevitabilities of crystallised resplendence.

Refracted pain screams unheard entombed in glass for value graded purity

of colour as skin peels within veins like worming shafts.

Casts, cast no differences against backdrops of gloom.

Camouflage conceals a home for shades below where shaded graves protect from suns that rise upon no hope to thrive and flourish.

Savannahs stand abandoned where beasts not hunted graze

as black eyes stalk a coin and swallow meals of white disdain

Rented appendages sap strength and till rewardless lands

As they drag behind us leaving scars and dusty tracks

Gray slaves shuffle after trains long missed to destinations

where energy seeps out of weeping wounds of puss and sin

Understanding sighs a note, the cadence lulls and soothes

that sense which breaks a revolution long before its vision comes.

Meanwhile, in pities pit, those above the them beneath,

perfume onerous stenches as they go about their days smelling not their blames. They see not beneath the soles red painted vanity.

Trending paths lined with good intentions directed on a waypost

where eternally nowhere is the terminus in sight

And where knowing no longer need take purchase.

I remember mucus covered lips of bovine cream

blackness longing not to swallow not to take the whiteness

not to drown in whitened rivers or fall from buttered mounds and mountains that the grateful would show awe for should they know.

I will remember to remind myself of what not to remember.

By the power vested in me I am the world, the eye on all. The brother bigger than the word. My reality unfolds across the planet and I blanket all with policy. To you our globe, I address. I declare democracies sword is held firmly within my grip and I am that figure at the helm of all the anchor-mens words that wake the sea as net is cast. I am made a fisher of minds. My loaves break and divide. My fish I portion and share among the diners at my feast. Be filled with my morsels of power and know that the horseman’s heels dig deep.

You can believe I’m the man for the job. Life expectancy continues to rise.

Women don’t die on the birth bed. Instead they die in sheltered housing with nothing to show for a life that won’t be thrown on a heap for the land fill.

The freedoms won illusive threads of burned braziers and chain posted protests. Pasts nostalgias long despised a modernity takes no prisoners and rewards no heroes in frocks and aprons. Matrons of virtueless girl children neglecting their men for victories in mental power struggles.

Tigress’s in the dress of a mans imagination taken through a prisms twist of light. For now no thought of right or wrong stands in the way of what they say of a burden carrier living longer to longer shove the carriage up the slope of social progression. She has won a victory in fight with shadow puppets. Men the mugged and women charged with mens abuses though excuses for the situation have no grounding.

Let me tell it to you straight. Child mortality continues to fall.

Babies are the wave of enslaved living drones, no clones work better than a mind on tether and the longer that the rhythm is a chart jamming hit the the beating is a treat for a pleasure seeking doll. Boy doll girl doll mixed body heads legs arms everywhere doll. Multiple agendas fuel a gender skewed kaleidoscope, surgery scared, sequin covered, glitter ball of photo filters pouted at from arms length. They snap and swipe for the liking and the sharing of no caring for the privacies that had been hard thought two or many world turmoil’s. A dream that dreamed an end to crude carved broken hearts for dreamer who await their chance to shine on platforms all across the web of woe filled pill assisted miseries. Thumb deformed, apes gift to us is lost to its animal thread that leads us home. Nature natural is selected away and now that we are all the same my work is nearly done.

There was nothing before my work. Fertility rates are falling.

Who wants to be responsible for mutating into caretakers of the feeble as the children are the system and the system owns them all. We the proud parents are the surrogates of state procured purchases. Commodities from cradle to the grave . None are saved and we feed then so freely with our women wombs and our women’s souls long stollen in a magazine and lost in a romance filled vacuums of pasteurised cream entered chocolates.

My results speak for themselves. GDP growth has accelerated in developed countries.

Well, a cheaper product is the cheaper for the purchase and the cheap we reap in plenty as influencers pose with their well placed intentions for

sipping like luke warm soup or a brew laced with LSD and a dose of giggle giggles, munchie munchies, yum yumies. They dribble as they come so warm. Blue video light steals your sleep. Outside there is a storm. There’s a fight for the worlds view can you see it? Me and you together, no stopping, full speed ahead. A plan in hand and we all have a master. It’s the wish where chasing after full pelt ahead with me at the helm. I am more, your are more, you want more. I provide the way and my countries say is the saying. First forward ,fast forward humanity 2.0. Leave your trust with those that know my tenure is secure. I hold that one key. Let Perceval seek it if he will, I hold the world in my hands “Ive got the whole world in my hands.”

I am that line in the sand. Global income inequality has gone down.

Standards have gone down yes true but the measure is a standard that we all see through. Is the filter only one remote button push away ? I’d say not if there’s a devil on your shoulder or a relative of direct descent. The lineage is blue but the blood runs red for the noon, for the worker and the parasitic shirker of the real as the sun. The out come of an empty high makes street foreclosure a boner for an office strapped gimp.

I will tell you again and again. More people are living in democracies.

Hip hip hooray all of us under the sway. Money needing, money pleasing feeding money to the honey. La La landed in accounts where the hidden hide doubts of society bread rolls filled with aches that stinks with a worth like gold, because somebody and some money said so. Could the money changers stand before the wrath of a lord as a table cast aside scatters coinage like corn? Watch the scrabbling scrabble with the word to explain where their souls have gone and where their minds remain. Are their hearts in the same dark place as a creature seeking cooler climatic conditions? Wisdom on hold as the sold tell the purchased that the choices are their own and the variation is testament to the lord benevolent on your knee you the subjugate with an opioid. Better you the medicines avoid. Seek the hag and crone in the wooded tree filled place where the seeing is bewilderment and lost is the found.

I’m ready to take them all on Believe me. Conflicts are on the decline.

Well who could win when you fight with yourself and you fight with a shadow of conspiracies eye and mind set says there is no fight and there is no day like there is no night. This worlds disturbances are heard in thoughts unheard. Altered states on corners trade for the tax to be evaded in a black economy where no lives matter that they calculate as an anomaly of organisation. We can tolerate its implications and allow its stink to grow. We know there is no worry when the favours that you curry are the deals that devils make in houses grand. Houses of cards on TV sets and digital jukebox sets of series of serious distractibility.

The conflict is the fight to stay in tune to the risen sun and morning setting moon. The tides and seasons swellings to the wildest call and under dog, the choicest loin and lowliest hog. A portion on a platter serve corrupted wasters who have given up the ghost. The fight is lost before begun, but I am here to steer the vessel into calmer waters from which plastic will be served and as we drink the last reserves of oils we cannot need. My executive decree declares that we cease and desist this pretend make believe reality. The most powerful is me and you will not deny the world is watching me and waiting on my proclamation. As the hours wane my lids fall full of heaviness and over thought that turns into oversight. I am un-slept and I call you to awaken. Cast your voice and breath.

I am the son of a slave’s grandchild

born into a hue of controversy and disdain.

Home is a dread empire’s shell and worth is the crumbs of a lowly.

Pain is the chill of a winter eve upon a grave of the long forgotten. Dressed in faded pastel plastic flowers, dead lips whisper that which nobody comes to hear. Bones dry and bleached as noon upon a pave are trampled as they merge with paths covered in snow and driven litter. Upon the hallow soil, toils of many a man’s sweat and life fall upon a country’s sword as nuts cast from branches reach an unavoidable floor.

What worth has the tepid water for stewing?

The engine runs on tea and curse words lovingly exchanged with familiar arrogances, dressed in Sarcasm’s passive aggressive duplicity.

Oh Empire!, we loved you before you spat at us.

We the exotic, of sheens long tarnished by familiarity and its all-incumbent indignations. The colony in the mind is imitated in edifices, reflected in passion for pomp and pageantry. Square jaws and stiff shoulders, mantled in red, boys roused by glories sung in times of pride.

I am the son of a slave’s grandchild

born into a hue of controversy and disdain.

Unrecorded histories in streets, trade and sweet undercurrents of musk and sweat. Crawling creatures’s lusts are sucked from the loins of masculinity. Prayers to sins, iniquities brought before the magistrate, appraised before the saluter of an expectation. It will all end bad and cause a stink when you hear of them eating us in our sleep. Puss and vomit in the pews amongst the likeminded, as they chide their councillors over tea and sandwiches. Sour words tell of the attitude, it was better back in our day! Though in whispered mordacity that it was less dark both in weather and in complexion.

What worth has the mouldy hop for brewing?

Shades in corners of shadow from lips of scorn plot. The contrite and conceited foul communities’s efforts, so the neighbour remembers to hate with fear that he cannot rationalise but fells in the words of a carouser. We hear the scorn of liberalised ideals that stoke the device named ignorance. The able purchase their means of security; and secure in towers of empathy, pretend to care nothing for the differences that we are and how all friends come from afar.

I am the son of a slave’s grandchild

born into a hue of controversy and disdain.

Home I new is now a ghetto of wealth, cleansed of the living

breathing melting and spiritual thriving.

Oneupmanship paid by postcodes and off street parking. Pretty boutiques selling trivial trinkets for the materially exhausted and ever wanting.

Colour wears extensions and morns the loss of Europe.

Air kissed greetings and exchanged coded credentials, into clubs of twittering neuroses and wordy sounding lunches on menus bigger than plates tipped in accordance.

I am the son of a slave’s grandchild

born into a hue of controversy and I grew out of the colony.

It is an empire faded away.

Who wants to hear about the fact that every day some 200,000 people around the world are lifted above the $2-a-day poverty line?

The news is clear, for we must cheer. We must wave hands and banners high as for today some people got a bit more. Just a little bit more and we show applause. Our now partaking, clear unthinking, feeling nothing for what we can’t see. We can’t know or understand the reasons why we try to gain the more that elevates and makes a state to furnish with statistics.

Tea and biscuits sipped in places where the cake is just as nice at a price. All a lot of fuss and bother when the gloating stand with pointed fingers. “Pontifa-noting “ on what the other thinks on. On what others ponder on about and over what we are about when we are without and less the fortunate for. Therefore the more we want we need to show that we have got.

The “we “ can well and truly be the counted with a jam jar full of pocket coins. Percentage noted, quoted gloated and scoffed at through spittle splatting laughter.

Or did you know, that more than 300,000 people a day get access to electricity and clean water for the first time every day?

Well, the lights come on and brightness is shon and we were given the chance to work on longer making it more likely, that we will with more likelihood reach over the $2 a day income limit.

So number one on our list of crowing achievements is also number two and in the truth of logic no aim achieved. Though achieve we have for praise a knowledge. Now we see in darkness more to do and to pursue. For now we need to fill our empty corners

with warmth and sentiments that represent the progress we now feel. Electricity brings fridges , brings TV’s, bring computers, brings utensils, tools and gadgets. Sleeping disorders and a dimension of desires beamed and streamed and waved on air.

Flashes of inspirations sparking growths and personal revolutions and volts of quantity called development. Illuminated secrets of clubs and gangs of like the minded. The darkness is dispelled and nature looses a buckle. We stand with pants around our ankles only now all can see the nakedness of an emperor without his cloths.

If we care about global welfare. Globalisation is the only way forward to ensure that economic prosperity is shared among all countries and not only a select few advanced economies.

If we care about global welfare then we must be aware of the global warfare that’s taking place in our homes and minds and the divisions of soul and heart and spirit and body. There are knowns that the unknowns cherish and relish the day that humanity perish and wait in coil rattles posture. The bolstering rise of commerces cold fingers in purses and sales for profits and gains for powers and fortunes the citizen drone like good little sheep. The bleating is when there are traffic jams and power cuts. As global impressions leave high streets and malls in a limbo with nobody there to consume from the windows when pockets are empty and there are no coins to feed supper to toddlers with distended bellies and eyes all a bulging from watching the telly. Big mother the baby sitters companion has stolen the children and nobody sees that the fall of a nation is well underway and the day of a reasoning surely is coming and thunder is rolling in heaven.

When you have a Destination to reach, it is best to take a swift path and tarry not along the way.

So old wise words would have us believe.

Though why this should be the way, the puzzled boy could not fathom.

He thought hard upon this and other things but this in particular. Why did everything have to go so quickly? He thought so hard about this and furrowed his brow and creased his face in deep concentration that spoiled the beauty in one so young.

In-fact to say that he overthought the thing was an understatement of what was really going on. He thought of nothing else!

When asked for the carrying out of some chore or deed, the puzzled and disgruntled boy carried it out despising every moment that took him away from his real concerns.

After one such detaining task laid down by his mother, the boy decided to run away as he could no longer face the stress of the distracting tasks that took him from his musings of why everything had to be so fast.

He ran East as he had heard that this was the direction of beginnings. He stole away early one morning headed in the direction of the rising sun.

He ran and ran and ran more, never tiring nor looking for a rest. He was determined and desperate with haste to find a place of peace and no chores, where he could pay full attention to this questions of speed and the good of it. He ran with purpose and swiftly to his cause.

Eventually he could run no longer and he found himself in a place far far different than that where he had started.

So different indeed was the place that the culture shock of it all was too far and too much for him.

Quicker than lightening, he span himself around and ran as fast as he could back in the direction he had come from. Driven by fear and shock of the place he had found himself, he begged for a lot more speed and a chore or two that might keep him well occupied in his safe fright-less world.

Certainly the question that had sent him seeking was the answer drove him home. He knew now the good of speed, it gets him out of scary situations.

Vulgarities of thought and tongue that bring no cream to sweat and pulse.

The torn shreds of dignity that leave refreshingly thoughtless talons of spite and sensual brutality mare me. The rythms of your wanton seed sow the rim of ladies that walk a night and sell more than the licking on manly shafts and the teasing of uprising members and aged decrepitude.

Scorching motel rooms advertise hourly service where sheets and bedbugs makeout in the messes of someone else’s sordid mistake. Love is the neon coloured poster of yesteryears, remembering the once felt feeling of connected morality and an unbridled urged to break away from it.

You pour out the liquid love of promiscuity. Giving in to temptations of living vomit and alcohol laced with a fist fucking ride of fulfilment and joy that the chorus of amens is heard a century away and through the thinest of paper dry walls.

Love being the weakness of fragile emotions scorned in a playground of playboys and readers wives. Back page illicit meet-ups in carparks and underbrush leeways littler the conscience and cripple the bed ridden sorrows of failure and premature emotional disfunction.

You can’t get it up and you call the local Huggy Bear to send on over the dish of the day.

He duly notes it on a tab of flesh best cured with a whip and the gargling screams in a background of sadism and filth.

You crouch for the pissing mouth open bike of an orifice, poppers and powders to sniff with a lashing for feeling the moments of luscious exhilaration and spasms of orgasmic destruction and corruption of something akin to a being.

Thick with trepidation

rising clouds hasten setting suns As earth and sky

prepare a funereal alleyway of beggers, crooks and Theives.

On the precarious lines we tread

for the vacuous lives we’ve led

with coins we feed the guilts we labour under.

The sparkly thoughts that magpies scrabble after

and laughters cure for all the anodynes in pills and wines

Our eyes distractions easily caught the weakness of our petty thoughts.

We call the pot the weed the kettle black and so

deeds in furs are measured wrong and there the throng

have right to pelt you with their eggs.

The dregs on pavements spit and in back allies souls are slit like purses.

Silks and leathers empty save for a plastic meal.

But for a thought not fit tip top to steal.

The secret word on broaches close to hearts we carry, none will see.

The tapping on the walled machine.

As useless as the broken shoe on a rainy day.

Dispenser drug machines, we use the wall to pay

there is no need for paper lest you hide the taxable commissions

as expected by the citizen, on so we all agree.

The money in the malls has gone and cashing in means getting on aboard

a train of thought that seems to make a sense in retrospect.

As intellectuals debate the day to day and days like none has ever lived before.

Constellations forming characters with cloud obscuring sanity and vanities.

Humanity has tasted not the sweetness of its poison.

Believing in the gated minds the keepers of a purpose.

Feeders forcing fatness down a spiritual gullet.

In plumpness ripe the prefect pluck to pot

a joint for scalding hair from flesh till baby smooth.

Sense is separated from meat beneath a moving corpse

and androids walk and talk and tell their woes for what is lacking.

Deliveries of parcels spill the diesel into choking atmospheres.

A snaking water canopy the ancient forests stolen trees in chains are hauled

across the mothers skin in mirrors sitting plucking, peeling, preening,

pulling tucking back a year of “adverinfo” product sifting.

The glaring LED saved energy directs a stream of blinding verbs,

and reality is there to be dressed up in just by wanting.

On a line no sign rejects a payment and all notices ignore when checkouts close.

The hours four and twenty never ending ever spending.

Goods, a box of packaging, the choking island swirling in a

sea so far a way form blame. Shamefacedness’s berried

Kopf in sand with arse in air and not a care for seeing not

the micro pearl that strangles sex out of Poseidon.

The poisoning of sea and earth and air, there will be none here.

In a “wordly” thought out world where worries wane

with every swipe the satisfactions therapy has taken

us so far from us and taken something from us all.

(We shame our tragedies with blame

and shame the blame with guilt.

It is time to change.)

They’ve sung a blackness out of us in the Pentecostal pews and

sang a demon in its place and killed the living light of grace

that shines from where we would not dear to Stand tall and be counted.

The chorus and the roused alike stand forward fix with gaze held straight.

The figure on the wall is dead and represents the real intent

of those that lead the song.

And those that lead the sermons and the preached and dammed and praised

are all together in the halls that they expect the lord to fill.

Shoulder to shoulder for a cause that none remember save to pay.

And none remember those that die and those that give a life for right and those that stand in truths pale light but know a darker shade.

They know a darker day that brings

them weeping at the door of where they will find no respite

and comfort not for the good and right.

The hallelujahs praise and tambourines banged loud and hard.

The tanning the rapscallion receive for sins and faults,

scar the soul as leather flails and lashed skin commits

memories of the judgements hand of shame.

His justice wielded anger slices flesh forbidden to the common.

Swans upon a table fit for kings and them alone, make a feast that we the preached upon must in our humbleness accept that betters do decree.

And what they say must have some sway

on how the life should be for one as ignorant as me and lesser in the wit.

Better them that sit so high looking down from where their sins

cannot be seen where the common eye roves not to witness

whispers begotten in secret worlds.

It is that with no pulpit but a floor of open praise the screaming

and the spirit filled with eyes rolled back and voices shrill will dread

unto the meek instil that they be filled with fear.

Ye lowly ones of no accord and standing there before a lord

would have one think on that same promise sent that makes the murder repent with supplications heavens want to feed beliefs not known.

To belief a finger pointed, sins against the light anointed knowing nothing in belief that bliss is the unknown.

And God is the unknowable they wrongly preach

the empty barrel rolling down a hill of pain that stragglers are struggling to crest.

Dressed in Sunday bests and posing chests and breasts with highness emanating from their inner visions of themselves.

Bunions forced into leather shoes unbroken in.

Feet’s discomfortable wisdom tell the truth.

The tapping worth the beat kept for distractions benefit

and as they sing the chorus rings and words and smells

and visions mix and mingle in kaleidoscopic confusion.

Service ended, what is served is no nourishment

is no cause is no purpose is no lord.

Feeling for detractors and the advocates of devils and the atheist and anarchist that all with ignorance in twist and turning dance a waltz.

Upon the knees the prayers to please are given near the end

as bowls of shekels daringly are jangled through the throng.

The brazen cast their notes in neatly folded squares, the humble flip their coins while the shameless and the guilty fein the placing of their trifle

for they pretend to themselves.

Many a button has been dropped as they sound not dissimilar

to coins when they hit the shrapnel in the bottom of the bowl.

A roof or a new steeple, the flock pay for the organ tuning, alter blooms laid as though upon a tomb in honour of a dead and crucified lord.

The blue eyes on the wall shine down upon the throng

till each and everyone is gone and none save God himself will witness a corpse climb down from the wall and up and out through the doors

bared against the cold. The betrayer counts his haul of pillaged faith

in traded coins for souls salvations and libations poured for guilts and deeds

the fears. Smiling cold awarness brews a hunger for the Sundy next.