the idiot

I think you wrote me a love song
You dressed it in black, and fur and laced takkies
and all the radiance you could gather

I think you wrote a love song
a sad song
another time song
a song from the pages of a book
you once let me believe

I think you wrote a song
I could sing
a sad one
one with lines
a casual bridging
in some cosmic symphony
somehow to be ignored

I think you wrote me a love song
a last song. a song sung before slumber
a silent song a once-upon-a-time song

A thing of praise and wonder of subversive intent

of lost words and shaking hands and sweaty palms

a love song heaven sent

Portrait

I painted a portrait of a flower
today
it had no colors
a long stem- as black paint traced paper
and nothing petals
around a nothing

I closed my eyes as I painted
and so did it
best trying to ignore what we were doing to eachother
but I did it anyway
because
because at some eternal centrifuge of
Spcaetime and contemplation

It would colour in itself
and coalesce we hoped
into something more than what it was when we started

I painted a picture of a flower
it stretched out across the page
and reached to the corners of
the world it had been given
it formed itself in
a black streak of something
that was a flower

 

I painted a picture of a flower
it looked behind me at other flowers
and saw what it wasn’t
and stayed a nothing

Chasm

I drew a rope across a chasm today
to transport 23 years across it
because today

I

Wanted to achieve connection,
achieve
because that’s all that mattered

But in my ignorance and lack
I found that you had nothing to share
no shred
love; infinite and endless

Like God; incredulous and just
Powerful; wise; intelligent
Love; without the capacity
to show

I’m sorry

I’m an athiest

Thomas’ song

It’s when I think; comes pouring
and life, man, seems kinda boring
I’m sorry your death don’t mean shit
you weak and broken speck of phlegm and spit

you’re gone; that’s what counts
as your failure, decline, depravity mounts
Its your soul that burned brother
not your doctor; not your mother
gonna save you from the shit we caused

you worthless nothing; you’re glad we paused
before you died a worse death
a cursed death rehearsed death

wouldn’t have suited your style
small smile
go fly now
fuck off
we don’t care how
stand up
your turn now
me next
lets see what you can do

Maybe

Maybe its time
would I know?

as thoughts swim by careless of current
ignoring all instinct; regardless of thought and space
The thought at least
would be great

greater than those who had wanked there way
to some moral cock-steeple
said words like ‘must’ and ‘you’

‘if’

and ‘maybe’

maybe its right
at least for me
and not for you

only time to lose; given up to hope in some fell chase
some squawking dance with nobody in particular
leaving interrupted quavers hovering

is there time for your banter
and banting and beer-bellies
your underwear marriage and dreams thrown with mine

to be washed

at least maybe
there will be time for me to choose

love

quiet, love sob quietly
your noises are not a function of your penance
you did not know you were wrong little rabbit
your paws did not falter across the street in sin
gazing upon hazy headlights

but I struck you

from pure coincidence and My
Power was just and true

sob softer love come closer
so we may reconcile
I have always been for you
I am for you

but wheat is useless without the thresher’s flail
your weakness not be overcome
since
we complete eachother

come closer

love

do not fear me
I only administer wages
wages I must give of myself
for you to earn

you only have your own mistakes to fear
and you make less and fewer
one day we will have a love
so pure

if you would just

roll

closer

good

love

good

do you not feel better?
I promise

this hurts Me more than you

Do you step on flowers when you walk?

Do you step on flowers when you walk?

Do you step over the carcasses of contraceptive packs and discarded skulls of bygone meals?
Do you drag your feet and shopping home,
To your gate.
Your locked gate; before and after ; locked

To man, surely, robust and powerful
Your asbestos tiger
Your locked gate

Do you fuck?
And when you fuck and have stripped away all meaning
Sprawled upon his pin
As your youth drains with your composition and disposition

And when the fuck is done; is done
And highness falls upon his territory
And you lock the gate behind you?
As you walk through your thoughts:

Do you step on flowers when you walk?
Grow your own flowers in your garden
In earth measured in magazines
You may look upon your

Work

And say “What gains! Such colour, love, such colour!”
Then fuck and fuck again
Finally in an abstention of guilt
Finally free from danger and dangers
Finally ‘then’ has come and gone!
Finally we gaze upon the spectral wonders that we are!
Finally we can furnish and refurbish and fuck and plant flowers

That you can step on

When you walk