Light shines upon that river free,
And incandescently bright;
A Moravian forest scene
Trapped within my head at night.
We used to hide, smoking weed,
In the transcendental day;
There was no festered evil bleed,
Youth was a tourniquet.
That waterway's a tributary
Only for my dreams.
Were those years too, fantasy?
Crooked memory, buckled overhead beams.
Those sunny banks are lost to doubt,
Though you may trek through country far,
You'll never find that river-mouth,
Re-emerge the exact same as you are.
I remember your post-coital banter,
You said it didn't make you cute,
It just meant you were a massive spanner;
I still disagree with you.
Can you imagine how distraught I'd be
If you did yourself harm?
Don't bide beneath that river free,
Re-emerge the exact same as you are.
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Tuesday, 28 August 2012
Wednesday, 22 August 2012
The Fisher
My croft is at sea,
With my fishes
And my own sense of blasphemy.
Damn you, pale nebula,
My navigation
Is by polyp and medusa.
When the shore's in sight,
I clutch at my throat,
Longing for your tentacles
To suck on my boat.
On my haggard deck awash with rain
I stand, reeling in a net of pain.
Oh maelstrom, spin the fabric of my freedom,
Sunken iceberg, be my palace in the ocean,
The empty stores are where I make my feast,
And albatross, be my herald of peace.
When the shore's in sight,
I clutch at my throat,
Longing for your tentacles
To suck on my boat.
On my haggard deck awash with rain
I stand, reeling in a net of pain.
With my fishes
And my own sense of blasphemy.
Damn you, pale nebula,
My navigation
Is by polyp and medusa.
When the shore's in sight,
I clutch at my throat,
Longing for your tentacles
To suck on my boat.
On my haggard deck awash with rain
I stand, reeling in a net of pain.
Oh maelstrom, spin the fabric of my freedom,
Sunken iceberg, be my palace in the ocean,
The empty stores are where I make my feast,
And albatross, be my herald of peace.
When the shore's in sight,
I clutch at my throat,
Longing for your tentacles
To suck on my boat.
On my haggard deck awash with rain
I stand, reeling in a net of pain.
Monday, 13 August 2012
Claw
These emotions are illusions;
an opaque mask.
Giving head on my sick-bed,
now the phlegm's passed.
Sensitive, your legs quiver,
and pupils dilate.
Rend your claws across my jaw
for that absolves hate.
Claw - vainly at the strings of reality.
Tear - without regret or mercy.
Your poem is a profound
waste on me.
I couldn't take your treasures
if you'd cut me a key.
If I could read the knowledge
right off your skull,
I'd still be fucked and worthless,
I'd still be null.
Claw - vainly at the strings of reality.
Tear - without regret or mercy.
an opaque mask.
Giving head on my sick-bed,
now the phlegm's passed.
Sensitive, your legs quiver,
and pupils dilate.
Rend your claws across my jaw
for that absolves hate.
Claw - vainly at the strings of reality.
Tear - without regret or mercy.
Your poem is a profound
waste on me.
I couldn't take your treasures
if you'd cut me a key.
If I could read the knowledge
right off your skull,
I'd still be fucked and worthless,
I'd still be null.
Claw - vainly at the strings of reality.
Tear - without regret or mercy.
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