What can we do in the end?
When our existence has become completely soulless…
And the world as we know it doesn’t deserve our perception of it…

Where’s the colour?!

What can we do?
Something, anything?
Something real? Love repeated…

Remember that thing… how it gleamed…

And now, there’s nearly nothing…    
Nearly nothing because of what we’re doing…
And what we’re letting them do…

And there’s no god to save us,
Just our words and power…
Power that should be as simple as a flower that welcomes the smeller…
But instead we’re being devoured by a scent so sick and seductive it makes us shiver before being swaddled in its shadow…

An oxygen and spirit-******* force that won’t stop slowly eating us until we give up the joke inside of us - the fake rose, the front; all our artificial flavour and fervour - the real desire is deep within and we’ve all felt and feel it like a vast river that connects all our fears and wonders, making us better, stronger, longer, brighter, grander, wholer - together - an awesomely dazzling luminous light that should never be underestimated by some jester…

Union lack…

Put up a flag, desperate to fit…
Flags that were used on hideous ships…

Where are you Jack?
Who is it this time?

Can’t help think of the kids that have to fight to survive…
Whilst yours flit between different lives, crying inside…

Sing them a brutish lullaby,
About a world that never lived…
The same lullaby that reverberates through the opera boxes of this creaking pit…

It’s only purpose to keep you as the sick,
The sick who were shown to sit and take it, teeth full of grit; or vilely spit, taken in the clutches of that ugly shadow bearer’s writ…

Coward kingly with his ketchup
It doesn’t matter it’s only fake blood
Destroy our thinking, it’s just painful

Stop people walking
You won’t take our words from us
Quell my flavour, my foods too good

Extinguish our fragrance, your smell’s rotten
Our lightness illegal
It’s heavier than all of you put together…

All of you are meaningless
There’s no time and you’re an embarrassment

So what will you do,
Look in the mirror?
Touch?

Or are you weightless, faceless, nothing but duds
Weightless, faceless, nothing but duds…

The child looks like a clown because of what you did…

The child’s not scared of clowns now, they’re not scared of anything…

Soot on their face and blood on their lips…
They’re broken inside, yet we are the sick…

Ship is sinking but no one wants to know             Love is thinking, but it’s scared of the glow Submarines where warlords and tech gods go…   Ship is sinking but no one wants to know

Babies blinking before their whole lives blow…
Elders warning, but no one wants to know
Death is forming a strange prison of gloat…
Ship is sinking but no one wants to know

Time is ticking, but we’ve put that on hold
Weather’s wilding - some relief from the groans
Photos fading, the ocean bottom’s *****…
Ship is sinking but no one wants to know

Sun is calling but no one wants to hope
Rainbows form differently, still no one takes note…
Sun is calling but no one wants to hope
We’ve bought the idea that humans are a *****…

Somebody finally feels good in the smoke;
Hand turns the dial higher, but dreams they’ll never know…
A whole world that’s sick and tired and inspired -  
A picture of sad old pirates shrunk in their attire…

All our lives we’ve been told to keep it low
Keep our dreams out of sight and on hold, and our thoughts dressed up in clothes…

Our hopes were like golden blue bows slipping from our frozen poses...
Our hopes for any kind of rightness peering out
from under our beds of excitement turned to functional poison…

And who are we now? The ones that look dead in a beautiful way… we never got to know us but say we’re okay…

And there’s so many actual dead, but we feel like we’ve lost a million realities before us…
So we say how it’s absurd and grotesque,
Shake our heads, and try to expect less…

And when the bullet finally flies towards us in slow motion; we question its beauty… the cold silver glow of a car window with the hope a teetering feeling is imbuing…

You can try to make us less soft, less open, less fiery…
But you are the ones who are frozen -
The ones who won’t make the diary,
When everything you claim to be right is distorted and stolen…
You can’t stop us from flying towards the light
and glowing green and golden…

So best just leave us be… you’re the wanderers of this gallery and we’re the centrepiece…
Having travelled many galaxies to see you differently,
You still look at us with one colouring, through one sheen -

But it’s time to evolve or flee…
Our wings shield your swords and shine a light but only for those who want to see -

And those who want to see have wings like me,
And we hold each other carefully…
Our visions clashing in dual lucency; shining perfect, oceanic new ways to be…

When do we change?
Is it now?
Or in ten years time…
Is it in 2999?
Is this a sign or an unseen shrine?

Can we travel lightyears of compassion to finally reach what matters?
And join the orchestras of our hearts to form a cacophony of beauty that grows to other planets, admitting how lost we are…

Or are we hate first, death burp, old church…
Starving billions yet again just to prove a point -
Just so we can light a joint and oink -

Why must we parade, not permeate?…
Escape but stay safe…
We could evolve from the inside now, freeing every structure of our being…
Procuring our loving spout, rather than drowning in doubt…

When will you decide to step into the liquid mirror, joining timelines of past and future -
Upon which - being that every-creature; you see through a lensless camera…
Can you embody the real virtue and meaning of captured existence, and in doing so outshine death by becoming life itself?…

With the blue face of Picasso,
he grabs all the strangely dismembered and distorted deprivations,
pressing them like wild flower stencils onto the canvas before him…

His sausage fingers rolling up his collaged carnage cigar… placing it to his clay mouth -
Looking at the skyscrapers outside his house
“I do this for my paradise country…”

On a dizzy permutation of this ferocious routine; he realises - nothing fits -
“I’m a preacher in my own ****…”
But the apple is sweeter because of me…
The pear trees are weaker…
And at least we lost their weeping wisdom
and childish victimisation…

remember…

“We make the system - ” art is meat, art is mickey…

And we’ve shrivelled their fruit to display in exhibitions, give to our children; and to flavour our unique trappings of meat certification…

A smile that postered peace has cracks…
Cracks that were covered that start to appear in times of great test, revealing its uncertainty, vulnerability, venom towards the thing that makes it fear…

The smile is a signature of submission
A stamp of insecurity
Because to feel one must think, not temporarily fix,
And to truly fix, one must insist on feeling - everything…

A smile full of love, wisdom and youth never fails, but is thrown; blasted by veiled vast-disappointments, so that the face that holds it moistens with incredulity…

But a smile that has no truth -
When it starts to fray; stiffens easily - turns anodyne, bitter, frozen…
Until the corpse behind that smile becomes clearer - and dictates death with no mirror…

But beware… you can turn away all mirrors
Yet in the darkness they will linger, slither, shimmer, hunt you down…
There’s no escaping from the silent screams in your head and eventually this realm of darkness will fully consume you - if you choose to take this path of lies, safety, silk teeth…etiquette… wrong rest.

If we’d carefully addressed our nuances
We wouldn’t be in this mess…
If we’d spoken to the heart rather than the heartless head…
If we hadn’t turned this planet into a closed and open hell…
Like a giant burning cruise ship full of mere shells, piercing into the earth’s former self…

We ignore the trees; the trees that show us magnificence and mystery; destroying their epic lives in a heartbeat…
But the trees whisper through connected fungi, working as a team for longevity, with no concept of antipathy…

And in dark forests on the sunniest days we still glimpse those rays of true beauty…

We still have a responsibility in our vastness to steer this ship of souls in the right direction, in conjunction with nature and all of it’s adaptations…

Why stare into one hole in a cave when there are a million different pools and palaces shining through the crystal cracks, all waiting to join as we chip away at a new haven…
Imagine what aliens would think then when they came to visit our shimmering, all-embracing, reciprocal creation…
I remember ones almost my age who saved this vision early on, looked at me straight in the eye and winked as I was gone…

For every viral gun death - a poem…

For every slither of hope for a beautiful family or person - a surge in funds for them…

For every ****** golden lie by politicians -
The fine fresh summer’s morning that makes their stomach turn…

For every company complicit in this torture, trying to keep us and them numb -

You can’t survive this - and neither can your conscience, whether you know it or not yet…

The whole thing will crumble like dried, ****** bubblegum - and art will be watching, like it always does…

Orchestratedly killing children, what kind of child were you?
Shoot shoot with no feeling, see how you’ll have no future, sucker…

You think that you’ve marred their grave,
But the child’s cloud escapes…

You’re not even a part of the picture -
Only a void for the paintings that will stay to show how great they are and how sick you were…

You’ve got no place, no room, no virtue,
So more fool you…
You’re not a conductor of any orchestra -

You’re just a fraying lace in an old man’s shoe
Yet look how young you are - or could have been…

I know you’re not one for feeling anything but you’ve got to admit; the deafening din of children’s wailing light and death’s scythe keeping you secretly afraid all night is gonna be hard to remove…

We’re sick of your lies
We’re sick of our frame
We’re sick of your blame
We’re sick of your lack of shame…

We’re sick of your hideous, righteous twist
We’re sick of your negligent noose
We’re waiting for it to trip back on you…
We’re waiting for you to tell the truth

The missile finds the child,
And they do nothing but walk by…
The missile finds the child but they don their disguise…

The foetus finds the ground,
But there’s no one around
At least no one willing to care…

The missile finds the child,
But we’re more concerned about saying the wrong thing to each other than saying ‘I love you…’

The missile finds the child, but we’re destitute and fear feeling…

The missile finds the child, but we’re black water frozen,
Our mechanisms broken,
Our robots erred;

And this whole slave ship design - to crush all of our senses, is ended - expended -

All that’s left is a haunted, weeping child that would even forgive you for your horrors,
But you would rather die than see your true reflection in those waters…

Never mind… a few more starving civilians that were gunned down to quench their hunger…
A few new gas chambers…
A few more parasite bombs dissecting the flesh of youngsters…
It will all sort itself out soon…

A few less teachers…
A few less writers and reachers…
People that can tell us what life means to us…

Never mind….
It’s too late now to turn this around… At least in the interim…
Soon there might be another intermission…
That’s fine, that will work in my favour… buy me some more time to waver… I can deal with this global assumption that I’m a monster…

I can quieten this down, phase this one out…
I don’t need collective cohesiveness, understanding and education…
I just need a good lawyer, some good half truths, a suit and tie and my foolproof patter…

They say mow the lawn…
Sever the sick…
They are the poor…
We are the rich…

They say **** us dandelions…
Live within their lines…
We say they’re out of time…
They say watch it tick…

They say tame that topiary…
of children’s dismembered dreams
We say you’re not meant to be here like this…
They don’t like the smell of cut grass biting back -
Like they don’t like the smell of blood in the streets - so they say keep it strict -
Make sure you’ve choked the weeds
with rotten fish, and poisoned seed…
They never hold a tight fist, but point a finger,
regal, stiff…

Our thick fragrant odour, frightens them much deeper…
And places a hand where the heart cannot beat…
This is why they don’t want us growing in peace, why they don’t want branches climbing their tall seats…

Because the alter they tokened is faltering cheaply, so they’re panicking and grabbing at every last leaf, in the strive to not be swallowed by the swamp of their own iniquity…

The weakness of the officer…
His barricade frame looming soullessly over the victim as the other officer decided she was too sick to come in…
The sadness of the old man arrested for holding a placard containing truths we all should believe in…
The weakness of your will to go along with everything now that it’s nothing…

But what’s nothing?
Is nothing breathing? Is nothing hearing? Is nothing seeing?

You can’t be at peace with dissonance…
And in order to achieve peace you must wake up to the hell that persists…
Don’t think you can avoid it…
Prepare to ask yourself the question;
Would you rather live in a cell where they don’t let the sun in,
Or be beaten to death for believing in something?

How can you sleep at night when you live to **** and torture children?
When your sole focus and purpose is child exploitation?
How can you even breathe?
How can you drink fresh water, that doesn’t taste of blood… that doesn’t choke you?

When all you believe in is hunting down innocence hydrated from mud pools, pulling it from its bud and burning dreams to a crust, calm in your mask of nonchalance…
When the child within and the child you’ve broken - watches you perform these abhorrent acts; how does the child within not shake with terror and repulsion, and every morning that you wake try to destroy you?…

Where are they? There is no child in you…
You are bleak, worthless, worse than sadness, not even material; just the drop of a soulless heartbeat in a void that drags on a **** cigar that will eventually crumble…

For now, you will try to butcher fine lands of olive trees and **** the green…
But you won’t succeed, because you are nothing but weakness

And the distant baby hearts that you heard and shot to order, as well as all of the beautiful, loving and creative creatures that you trampled like flowers; will haunt you…

Because you will realise that you have no destination, no duty of virtue…
Just a sick parasite heart that was too empty to question evil, but why?… too late to wonder as the foul thing ravens you alive leaving breath in your pupils… and bended buds rise around your frozen inward disgust…

But don’t let me stop you, light another **** cigar, in the hope of easing the brain… or there’s always the loaded gun when you finally feel insane…

You stop me from dancing, from singing
From sharing my fantasy -  
With your flaccid machine gun *****
You bust my brain that’s used to bullets
Every waking moment, trying to unbalance my blast and break it…

Acting like the vulnerable child that changed except you didn’t… full of weakness and cowardice…

Do you want to talk about it?
Better not show your ugly realness,
Who knows what that could tell…

Keep on killing in eliteness
Clinking your champagne cufflink caress -
You can try to delete us
Yes, you’ve already tried to burn this…

But let’s face it - we’re fearless…
And you’ve not stopped us from dancing
We dance and sing to space-spanning anthems…
And the rain restores us
And we smell like special wild flowers in forests
And all you are is a distant splinter
That came out with ease, once you were directly demeaned

And nothing can stop us, because we are the future…
And you will freeze forever and ever in your ugly paint - its golden frame you can’t change…  
And the hell you thought you could re-spell -
You’ll feel it all too well…

They bomb our toilet dungeon souls
Fireworks for our extinction
A dead child’s hand reaching…
They bomb our toilet dungeon souls
Quietly but quickly -  

For lifetimes kept in dream purgatory,
Not allowed to be who we want to be
We have to choose… we have to cheat…

They bomb our toilet dungeon souls
Dark and deep and bleeding…
Like they always did through screens and language,
As if we said something to put us down here,
As if we built this casket…

But we found the key, a long time ago…
To climb the secret walls of this prison…
Working constantly in this puzzle below,
Dreaming in our dreams…
Each time a little more laughter,
A little less debasement for banter…

Forming intricate shining webs that lead us to the light above,
As we finally crawl out like cluster flies into the glowing ether -
Their ugly bronze imperiousness means nothing
as we swarm with the Aurora…
******* down our cherub honey genesis butter…

We’re stronger together,
Boy, girl,
Man, woman
Them, other...

Why would you think you’re superior?
Why would you think you’re spectacular?
Our histories are woven,
Whether we like it or not...
There’s no time for malice that widens our rot -

Because this is where they want you; under their thumb in their cot...
But when you speak up, with nothing but the truth– they’re shot...

And this is what we’ve got...
Act now or flop...
No time for comfort in your clan,
Measure this wing span...

We can still fly out of here if we want...
Stop judgements based on immediate response...

Or watch each other die,
In sweltering springtime, spying through stick masks of spite...

Only until the day, monkeys look us in the eye...
Will we dare to jump the branches of time...
When we have to move to stay alive,
Will we act like sublime strangers
Or perhaps tonight...

When screens tell us to do something we might,
But when they lie and spill we keep our distance inside...

We don’t know our patterns
Our rivers and torrents...
Yet cling to the copper current
To the sun’s side of a sixpence...

Only until we realise our scope is too significant in size too relinquish,
Do we stare into history’s blighted eyes
And willingly join both sides,
Relishing in the surprise of our random apparentness,
Like the rare colours of butterflies in a golden instance...

Make America **** again
Treating children like meat
The hand on the mouth as they choke
The millions of witnesses who cope
The massacre well known, numb
Worse again but old,
Let it hold...

No place to call home...
Make America **** again
**** for gold, for lead
A stolen broken bed, no thread to their reason other than fed...

Federal monsters fed like youngsters
Yawning with ease...
The libraries of histories they choose to seize and sever...

Until there’s nothing and no trees
Just baron land and bullies and destructive weather...

Make America **** again, and again, and again... until the pain becomes pointless and the world lets it be, and brainwashed beserckists sizzle like beef...

Syrupy cinnamon fronts the taste of blood
They scoff without dignity
Their rich grins devouring the cheap treat
As the sun beats down intermittent

No real suffering, no starvation of thousands

Stand by the gift shop
Our saviour wore flip flops
Our greenhouse of primacy

To not know anything of greed...
Or of the penniless preacher who sowed a misconstrued seed

Comfortable with the unspeakable
Obnoxious unconfrontational
Augmented stolen-perch ******,

Agel, with no ‘n’ for nurture, eyes for plundered treasure
Your age isn’t elegant
Eat the ****** fruit whole with the pips, as old children are murdered, opal fires fixed in feathers...

**** you out
Your broken beliefs
Your desire to extinguish the very thing that makes me me...

**** you out
Your empty words
Your fraying suit
Your fear...

**** you out
Your insistence to destroy anything that makes us happy and human

**** you out
Your dangerous perception that in order to protect a child you must never become one again...

Which leads to suppression, self-harm, oppression, augmentation and homogenisation...

And when the whole world has shat you out
Showed you that they won’t be controlled anymore by your projection...
Yes, when you’ve truly ****** your freedom -

Who will you turn to?
When even your inner child has closed the door on the monster you’ve become...

****; you’re so out.

**** journalists <
**** truth-seeking avidity, inquisitiveness, open-mindedness, awareness >
**** children.

Blood-soaked blue sky
Smell our vinaigrette of helplessness
The honey crying chords of a zillion golden cubs

Roots that won’t die
Bursting through us
Dark crimson walls high
Too shame our innards

Tear-drenched rain
Draining our conscience
Pulling us toward the marble migraine
Where blinded gerents continue the measured deterrent

Of life desperate
Keeping hearts from heads
And minds from mouths

Away from this marble pavement
High up top, in cobwebs of restitched tapestry
Skeleton beast, less beastly in breathlessness...

A surge of sun spurged light in clustered cusps
Blows into this lecher
To carry our vividness
Like pappus in great gusts...

[Dear Planet Zog]
Light lies in the skin
In the mud, in the smell of a ruin...
In the quaint moments shut wanting to open...

In a zillion children’s burnt blood decanted from tilted hospital ruins
Not in the robots that breed robots for a planet they won’t call Zog (stupid)

There’s so much we could be doing but don’t because of how we’re feeling (odd...)

Because of what this predictive text wants us writing...(off)

**** it... I’m not frightened, never have been of being
Just frozen – broken – breaking – mending – sending – back to my soul – a child and teacher’s chance to know but not neglect this

To flow... and fetch fragments of that bliss we still nurture as it glows, grips, insists...(to wake in some blue moonlit snow and project this)
[That’s all I’m not afraid to know now – but go on, skip...]

I see young old skin
Fearing to feel
Paint wearing thin
Truth in a ring-pull

Deliberate distraction does what it must to retract us from us
But none of this has stuck

The privileged pretend, the poor attend
And stringed ones will strive for their view of amends

So shoot off their judge wig as fast as they send it
Use humour to poke, laugh like a blanket

Lie between the meadow and the edge
And wink at clowns with the mask of death...

How many more murders will we grieve in this dark night?
Dog bites and sound bytes
Debris from bomb kites...
Death and destruction on all sides
Whilst they watch from hot air balloons
Hollow-heartedly high
How many more surreal acts lie?...
More backing down
Staying out
Safe and sound in the parachute blot of a blasted cocoon as it sinks to the ground...

Shawls of dead child meat
Wielded like salami
His person excited
In deadness and army

Big long ****** **** just speared through a child’s cot....

There’s nothing to say...
In lullaby trauma
They dance like boulders
An avalanche of gracelessness
Bob their own children on their shoulders

The dust the poor breathe in reluctantly
That this systematic, cinematic dentistry leaves...

... chokes to the core
An ocean of innocence strives to be pure
But the big bulldozer bullies
Won’t stop dealing this misery
And moving around dead pieces in their glee

You see... this is it. No discussion, no big debate– no “it’s ****...”                                          
- the truth - no words could ever account for this.

Crush cut **** flip
**** guns **** kids
Sharp knife dig into the blood honey spread thick

It’s a mode it’s a *** shoot show it’s a stitch
Everyone will grow in his heavenly dome ring

You’re already less eternal than I...
By killing a kid in the blink of an eye
I don’t need to believe in a heaven you see,
I just feel the breeze in the arms of the trees

You’re a smudge on a page
A pen that’s exploded
Not like the kids who’s blood will be moulded

What will you do when your wind-up stops working?
Your teddy bear lurking– its eyes can’t be fixed
It’s too late now, you’re trapped in this -
Where muddy roots mutate your tapestry wings...

We’re nothing but skeletons through safety nets -
Fingers clicking new time sets,
Carcasses savouring the darkness
Lipsticks by cigarettes following the dim lit spec
Of no ground beneath us, wanderers foetusless
Figuring the freckles from the sun to our mess -

Caskets of breath, holding up heads
Hangers and railings, waiting for the horse sense sect...

Arrows through archways, glass light through windows
Pink blood smelling phoenix potent
Broken street slabs, bruised zinc honing
Wailing, awoken, wasting, frozen
Bent not broken– darker, sharper

Pieces of our star creature
Learning to walk quicker
Into the other whirl where we were hurled from...

No longer held off,
Dragons and sky gods
fending the ether -
Furious feathers float into glowing oceans that camber...

Love is the shell of the oyster
The caramel centre
The worrisome weather

Coast coasting shooter
Cyanide chaser
Hand with the feather
That beckons, bats, pressures

Love is a dream without dreamers
The real thing

Love is the magical realm of beauty we wanted to lift...
A waterfall pounding
All streams of past to the place...
Love is everything missed and remade

For everything fake -
Let me feel it one last time
Kismet sweet,
Villas bleak
Marble sticky -
Granite meat

Let me **** the vein of glitter streets
Surf the sadness,
Salt rose glass rush

Teddies haunted with softness beyond us
A ****** blue boldness that begged you to crop love -

Titan arum-sea saint
With your blood like rain,
Inhaling all the darkness
Freshly cut grass cane blade;

Remain in light, an amber blaze...
Curtain wall shatter all skies for our pleonectic pace

In seeing it all shrink about
My soul speaks mountains from a needle
For all the pointless pale attempts to wash out human pupils...

My glow is sealed with humble healers,
Ones who won’t get lost or wheel this
Realness in any kind of form/mess
A million messages sung, secret.

I can’t tread sand that hides,
Pretend I understand the croaking lullaby
Believe that we work for fun and always die...

When work is wild and worthy with time
I can’t sign, or stay silent,
With stars around me pulling brightness
Awkward -

Stay gripped by the kiss
Of wide window spirits...
Woken, can’t make a liquid stiff -
Stay outcast where the open love is.

We post to find a better life
A purchase with no payment
A silver crystal shell of hope,
Golden red letter sealant

Our folded wings to lug the chain
Shine glitter on the pavement...
Our broken home to elevate
The fragrant cheapest moments

Delivery is paramount...
For delight undeserved

It’s worth it to perch it -
To be rich in earth’s ****

The bitterer, the better...
Gut wrench hope through this twister

Till we blether one last measure,
To post into the litter.

Women can be men
Men can be women
People can be people
We didn’t write the feeling...

Stars can be supernovas
Meaning can be mending
And paintings can bend
And walls can return...

And shapes of architecture become earth

Lovers can be lovers
Leavers can believe us
Lights, camera, action, order, disorder
Dysphoria, euphoria
Academia, abracadabra
The moon, ***, sun and laughter

Instantaneousness

Osmosis

Fear, friction, distance, pure bliss
Bubble toting aqua world
Top this...

Freedom, collaboration
Emancipation, cognification
Celebration...

Millenniums of us saving, changing...
What we actually are eventually...

One surging sway of soul-light soldered angels
Growing out of a morphing abyss ocean

I bin billions...
I bin the idea I’d sink and burn
I bin men with no discernment...
Or taste but no measurement
I bin freedom if it’s flawless...
And men too tired to learn this
I bin all this.
I bin birth.
I bin the thing that makes it hurt -
So I try to bring thirst...
Drive this doubt into the dirt
And stir this thing into reverse...
—burning sweet these silver birches,
Stepping glassy eyed in churches,
Growing curved through the highest steeples,
Opening the eyes of the highest evil...
Seems we finally prove us equal, to elevate one perch

If matador is both macho and adorer, mask and mother,
Where are we in this chapter?
If peace is both picador and saviour...
Stepping stone and tablet...
Why can’t we capture?...

I know we were meant to meet us
These fragmented foals, sweet strangers...
So why can’t we seal us?
When we know the things that make us
open, closed and patient – omni-dimensional...

You’re calm yet persistent, I’m a bloom that has its own blood
And we’ve learnt to take it here, on the edge of premise...
Chasing and charging us...
Until one day we’ll free us. Like hail weather – pressure conscious.

You work in strange buildings that look like reconstituted dinosaur thought...

A smelly half smile, with capsule slogans
You keep the divide well, healthy, open...
For those who see straight through your empty notion...
All of you is lizard leather, shooting feathers
Numbing intelligence for data is clever...

Can’t get a grip on you...
I’m lichen– crystal; falling into wild weather
Waiting in mirrors far from you...
Watching your persuasion wither.

I woke up. And we were on some mission... Walking fast like dinosaur robots gentle.

All made of metal. The autumn red sun shone too strong...
We were almost bird-like steeples, foetuses tip-toeing along.

I kept trying to stare at your face but I couldn’t.
But now I get it... We were meant to be erasing something...

Still I Kept trying to turn my head, and it kept on hurting. Finally managed to twist hard enough, this giraffe neck with curtains...

Then saw them. Your silver slits twinkling, wriggling like silverfish or were they zig zagging...
Trying not to see me... set on the dream engineered *** of gold somewhere on our periphery.

I think... How did you turn your head? Did it hurt as much as it did for me... Do you feel as ageing?

Then we suddenly look deep into these dolphin-human souls, retracing our maze of complex inclusion...

As our senses are heightened, and our bodies implode, joining liquid time segments of something we hold...
Our spirals give out– as all broken cycles crash into a new spate rising spout.

Nails of the master’s reach...
No way out, no returning to innocence.
The bullied beat, the bullied beat...

Knife of the master’s heart we twist round -
Nails scrape for us... but it’s useless.
You are your own rose running, sweet one, smoker...
And they’re stale in their master’s keep.

Don’t need to keep the master beneath us...
In these vertical, breath-short windows, they are the beat-less...

And you stare straight through them.
Smash their hearts with sugar...

A life that keeps no secrets... far from the master’s weakness.

Cut the flesh upwards,
Bend your bone cot.
Be aware of everything,
Soul scissors don’t stop...
Our oceans stay so iron sweet,
And this will never change...
Our corrector eye lens cameras stay in range, far...
Our mystery.
Messy makeup burnt.
We’re not perfect but we are what we learn...
And this is where we start, from the pain beauty curves and carves a new art...

Stuff is in our blood, a stain on us
Slugging around, these sad star sore guts
Stuff is a stuffy word that’s embarrassing to utter when someone asks you, “What are you doing today... this Summer?”
...
Stuff is what saves us - but stuff bumps and slumps around waiting for its bus
Dress-stressing in its own looks/love - knowing and not -
A stopped migraine, stuff is euphoria sensed through architecture, a sunk shot.
You learn to be the butcher... Sleep with soul hooks...
Dance in the kitchen. Stoop in the shower.
Stake it out, stronger, wiser, these flow-wilters - over-studiers...
Old young bears, hard and soft stuffed in neat beds, hawk hearts bated...
For when we grab us, hug us, twist us, throw us
up-out. Reinstate us...

Soul trespasser...
You long for splendour...
You are one of those who yearns for one-off occasions to chase after you.
You’re remembering someone’s secret celebration in a place of strange perfection...
A child that partied all night, became their own bartender and private dancer...

That unique hotel’s façade declared adventure...
But now there is a window to a dark wall of desire.
Hungering for some old, solid friend there...
You await their return, and when they do, you’re still lingering... wanting their whispers to declare...
That this room has the very best view and mirror with you in it... For a life that feeds you more than you can chew...

You’ll risk it. Won’t look back on that wardrobe journey... You’ve packed your bags, opened up in a new strange surge of wellbeing.

Cobwebs from years of wild, winding worries – clear –
As the brightest sun discovers you...
On a functional vacation, joining the dots to a person... who no longer needs to fear or hear... or acknowledge you’re there...

Are we conducting a robot?
To write off our life slosh,
As we detach to explore...

Are you scared of the person behind you in dream décor?
The sweetness of them, supple, sincere and secure, I won’t turn from them anymore...

I want a space that suits my body, and a body that shapes my suit.
Drooping with these screens, we could be using our screen eyes and bodies...
But we’re biting on borrowed time. Focus on my face and timeline...

When we fully take over, they won’t stop these ache-numb, religious-atheist, vicious silverfish, who don’t think but spin beauty... Spill blood and **** feeling, chase silent moments...

If we lose our memory-doubt-history cycle, get lost and find ourselves in the deeper summer night cycle...

We are with the second sight phoenix heads, playing gold scores piercingly, growing as swimmer-dancers in wonder of the pieces of wild peace, new-vital...

Wake up to a black screen...
A smooth spectrum of feeling.
An idea of life.
In dream dungeon decay...
Wake up again...
Sun. Sense. Obsession.
Blue sky beige.
Dreaded robot rule over your ruin.
Wake up again, let that black screen be there, separate and taken into your being, stronger.
The make up of your real creature, moving.
Gained.