Miserably aware
as peace is in the

making of leaving.
Throats, and hearts,

young, and
wheezing, baffled by
charcoal,

neither dark nor
light.

Effigies honouring
breached existences,
or consistencies,

like baubles of
sparkling proportion,
however,

opaque turned off.
Can you imagine?

Signals stalling,
guiding cold, heavy
traffic,

noisy, and silent.
Peace fair, but not

quite earnest.
Attracted to wicket;

aim true, but truer
have been

without shtick,
a need to plead, cut
up by strictures—

Splendor devalued,
worse yet,

rudely
intercepted,

or yet again,
revered.

Our land lord loves us and hates us all, and I can relate.
More so in terms of love, and then some in turn of hate.
There's no debate, I'm making all of this **** up. Forsaken demigods lighting fires beneath deaths wings, beneath were they sleep.
Counting sheep around the clock, sleeping with my face in my hands, tolerating the devil.
I'm on your time and your on mine, we are both oxymorons but we are less than that.
Our land lord won't fix anything, all they  want is to party.
All I dream of is partying but Ive chosen destiny.
I am no enemy to the state, but it makes me sad that I have to be.
Consider me a rapidly progressing rhapsody say it again simply for kicks.
A modern day black comedy, quirky, yet outrageously unfunny, half cocked imagination, yet it flows as if, and then a brick wall.
Painting on a wall that is congested with accredited banter purified by my own sombre light, dry heat, and flexible scampering.
There is a sheet, but projections derail, the cloth is frail, and the machine needs some other words.
A lot of people in need of
cough medicine.
Tell your GP you are fine.
God isn't happy all the time, yep he had to pop up some time.
—
Inconsiderate, and inconsiderably jerky, or a cool man in a messed up headspace. Pack a suitcase, he packed nuts.
Reaching for better necessities, disregarding counting stock when grocery shopping.
Freedom of love and hatred, kiss and tell.
The hell with all this cat ****, not ****** but getting close
The rest is up for the taking.

My journey round Herdsman
began by changing direction,

a statuesque black swan
displayed in its muddy riverbed.

Business types operating drones
in fenced fields,

I saw the freeway which I was
pushed-out into, re-entering to

find the freeway once more.
Another entry point up ahead,

welcoming me back with its
tunnel of shade,

then encouraged back into the
open.

Buildings surfacing upon trees,
presenting as industrial nests.

I saw what brightness the sky
had to offer.

scrolling
shoulders

on an
android

before sleep,
wasting

lucky
days off,

writing
sloppy poetry.

Elbows
folding in

on selves,
neck

retreating
into chest.

Antici-
pation of

excitement.
Something

new from
suddenly worn
out

provocations,
with muscle all
their own.

Perhaps I'm
simply

concealing
unfinished
products?

All I
know is

haste
will leave

my brain.

All I
know is

I'm likely
to forget,

or search
wrongly
for

ungodly,
rudimental
possessions.

I won’t
forget,

apart from
everything

I must
remember

not to.