Where who I how
I am blue
my breathless face is blue
The afternoon is far to blue
I sit a thousand eons
in my purgatory of ignorance
mental illness is collective trauma.
Stand down, unseat my lofty notions.
Cultural superiority forget your place
embrace accountability for slights
I see but long to feel.
Torment my waking terrors.
Finger self inflicted wounds
peel the pain beneath the scabs
slice away my lids with razor blades
and lay ever awake, enlightened
yet clueless of the torchers flame
cast onto thatch erasing
an abode behind doors secrets
burning within. my pyromanic rage
scorched tale is left in rubble
scavenged from my soul of empty halls.
A building vacated where floors
lay one on top the other
I pretend to dance beneath
a glitter ball suspended in imagining.
feel the breath across the lobe
peeling me off of splattered
abstract strobe lit silhouette
a realisation not a relief.
I am blue
You are sick.
Yes you are come
let me help.
Have a Whit
I’ll tell you exactly why you shouldn’t follow me.
I don’t actually know where I'm going
I wouldn't have a notion of how to communicate
to anyone other than my arrogance
that I am so lost, I make the Pole star doubt it knows where it is.
Besides I’m a useless navigator
I have a broken satellite connection
un-repaired for more than short span of memory.
And, if you are following me, I might think you are some authority in pursuit of non-payment of something. so please have a whit and steer well clear of anywhere I might be going.
I hate me so much right them.
What a knobby gabby one you are.
How inter-let-me-tell you what I know.
You jump queues with know person standing in them
you self sucking head up hole of ego
preening and displaying playing for
an audience of empty seats
vacated as you take the stage
and open your self serving trap of ages
between a hard place and your no
charisma whittles block of foolery
Make a meal of loving puke and
spit on shoes before you throw them at yourself
place a palm to indicate where your heart lays
Your hand are in your pocket fool!
Fall behind your knees and meet your brain
in between your orifice of reason
Lord you are a lips spit of phlegm
Learn not to see yourself as you think the others see you
and stop talking to yourself like that.
Suffering a sufferance
Internally boredom must feel like a punishment
externally an ennui looks so much like self abuse
Boredom, you do it to yourself and then in ignorance perceive
that slight to you is done. You are somehow set upon
by an unseen forces, chastising notion of unknown possibilities
in walled universes of unmet outcome.
On tip toes voyeurism tugs the ear and pulls the eye
to spy activity in every locality save within.
The neighbour topless bathing on a hedge-less lawn
so immaculate it is itself a boredom
Tedium irks the conscious.
Bile churns stomach juices to an ach
that makes inert pain more acute,
a doing you to self inflict.
In self quarrel a mirrors phantoms hurl admonishment
for all of the undone doings that uncouple from possibility.
Guilt and shame collude and conspire
you perceive a pillaging stripping away interests attachment
faceless tormentors ringless digits notes the loneliness
ones predicament encourages.
Absent occupation and distraction raise circumstance
of not knowing what to do like adolescent hormones
not knowing which chaos to calm.
Hope for bitter pages when a cover appears sweet
dissatisfaction is an empty meal that bloats you.
as boredom is a bloated you that is empty.
Suffering, or sufferance of self loathing?
I am waiting to have a dream like Martin, seeing sons and daughter in collective shapes of hand in hand. No placards of protest needed to assert our obvious progresses not yet achieved.
I am waiting for the wonder of together standing to be noted for its norm.
I want us to be for granted that, we are the dream and the waiting for that dream to be the nightmare long ago dispelled.
I am waiting for feeling empathy has transcended, that touch is an unbreakable embrace.
I am waiting for divinities perfection to purify me and who I am.
Write so that it does not matter who is writing.
Leave the agenda off the page
let words lead us to discover intent.
Be no more than a turner of phase.
Let words imagine the imagination
play out fantasy rather than fantasies
on words imagining them as fantastic.
Be careful not to miss the mark
through over work and clever coinage.
Hold back ego radiated literatures.
Challenge you to be another,
others, many, nothing and everything.
Let it all behind for the after
to deduce that you are forever.
All for us and none for all
None save loves rebirth empowered light shall stop the hours turn as by degree and pendulum a to and fro in motion tend the passer on his passage through a terminus and prelude due as fallacy and falsity reflect each other well.
Endeavours striven conversations course the elements in trace accord through pulse and vein as strained pretence cares not a shredded ruined reputations memory when long ago was real and when waned nostalgia's left the racked and ruined all forlorn
Sealed vaults of empty digits fidgeted between the fated fickle finger wagged and pointed for misguidances appearance on the stage as badly acted parts are cured in smokers poisoned atmospheres that hide a stench not noted for its bitterness
Away brushed metals shoo a linear array of husks blown as chaff discarded waist seen with eyes as conjured apparitions flail and flee the falls inevitable edge approached from behind an unannounced surprise expected not that Good win
Rude awakenings startle inner wails ensue and spew across a rolling carousel of sleepers while the thief in nights awaited trample babe and man and crone one visions victory so close while one sight tries to see for two and cheat a hand unseen
A turned surf draw souls down into channels swirling life ebbs as shores erode the fight is drained and death ensues pages blot no tears in vacuums void of unheard screams for pities vanity lay unrequited tattered and most drab a remnant on a slab
God anoints men appoint the herd begets a flock blocks sets no prisoner free dreams escape recall with fleeing scent a certainty is rend from bolstering officiators tied to seats that topple over parapets and crash on rocks below
Evaluated methods weigh the coin on futures turn waist and slurry swills the dung sleeping giants stew a brew whispers coil conspirator vines tie binds and tether babes who kiss on smothered lips and choke in cribs near burdens validated hear and say
Sandmen rises from smoke and daggers pierce the night as flesh becomes a putrid fruit for those that drink the fear cleaving mothers torso as the babe is splayed on checkered floors where hand mens tools adorn the halls and blood runs freely down
Alas the puzzled brow is scratched to itch away an unsolved clue that clouds a reasoned meaning as regurgitation drowns the choking soul afloat on open waters sky above mechanical gyrations of dismay the mariners are left adrift
Religions purge belief authorities lost guaranties assure shedding lizards skin and scales raise effigies as heroes age expires wanes and dies Doves of oneness fulfil prophets sight as visions clear recall the last when souls remain for no rebirth
A final word to the absurd foolhardy and the blind as riddles are entwined in an epiphanies anticipation pine not for the revelation tarry by no destination where the hoards await to storm the gated as they satiate themselves on pawns that are expended
Has thought crossed your mind, what might have been before under seats you sit upon on floors in places where none know the unimaginable ones before order, before belief, before the ignorance leading to us who ruled the roost ?
If you don’t mind me saying.....
I am going to say what the hell I like, regardless of you liking it or not.
It’s this way
The blindest of the blind proclame, they have visioned the way ahead and everyone follows.