Traction Show

Traction Show

Those old men spend their last days

Working on immobile steam engines:

It is some fucking hobby.

Euphoric Flashback (Take 2)

Euphoric Flashback (Take 2)

 

Dreamlike an astronaut paced like a spirit

The folk in the forest were chasing their hit

How simple the substance made you an ethereal

Being

You're back on the drug that you thought had all drained

And that kid in the photograph swaggers on stage

Those motorbike engines will scream through the trees

Once more

It must be a chemical within my brain

That infinite void where we are the same

I pray in that place that you'll never forget

About me

Dripped from your third eye the horror escaped

You cried laughter the instant your senses were faked

And yet you left the wood to its moans when you aged

Into dread

They said some year soon that you'd have to pay -

Smoke winds through the woods like a veil blown away

You remember a junkie who stared at nothing

At peace

It must be a chemical within my brain

That infinite void where we are the same

I pray in that place that you'll never forget

About me

You're drilling a tunnel back into those days

With your hole of a synapse that still reeks of haze

And your tread remains buoyant in spite of depressant

Effects

You want to describe that far towering sight

But your blood holds the only communion of night

And your words are submerged and you cannot bring them

Into view

It must be a chemical within my brain

That infinite void where we are the same

I pray in that place that you'll never forget

About me

My Body Again Disagreed With My Head

My Body Again Disagreed With My Head

I told myself that I'm happy alone

Then dreamt of limbs wrapped together in bed

Thus when I found that I woke on my own

My body again disagreed with my head

In older days it would be a haunting

They'd call the priest in low tones of dread

To silence the devil his daemonic taunting

A crucifix pressed against me till it fled

Crop

Crop

A crop has grown within my brain

The harvest of a neural strain

It bears the rotting of our faith

I pluck the fruit to fill a space

To crowd the horror of the void

That nectar drowns my empty hive -

Pour those weepings in a cup

Drink up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

I wear my own mammalian skin

It feels like I'm an alien

An insect crawling in the sun

Beneath my conscious light I run
From brightness to the dark alone

To safety in the closing gloam -

Pour your madness in a cup

Drink up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

That sheaf feels rough held in your hand

You've grown the crop of this bleak land

And though the mill stone grinding is

The only music left for us

We will never leave this hated

Plot dried out emaciated -

Pour your struggle in a cup

Drunk up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

Napowrimo 3 - Blinker

Blinker

Five hours awake

                                         Scope of my vision

Our needs are met

                                         Healthcare decisions

Professional services

                                         Hiring now

Dribbling milk

                                         Cult of the cow

Thought for the day

                                         Tariff is empty

Charging my mood

                                         Your heat is plenty

Thought would be safer

                                         Bodies are weak

The landslide will settle

                                         Nuzzling cheeks

Like flint in your hand

                                         Scoring a groove

Divined upon bones

                                         On abacus moved

Forever the saint

                                         A small effigy

Electrical lights

                                         Will never be free

NaPoWriMo 1 - Our Flat

Our flat

When Paul moved in

I unpacked myself

First by droplets

Then whole organs

I'm surrounded by tubs of rotting food

And empty vodka bottles

It's time we did some dishes

Once we get the strength

I'd like to eject the rubbish from my flat

As the phlegm is ejected from my throat

I slither among my things like mucous

Collecting decay and slowing down

I've a copy of Bukowski

Everyone's too embarrassed to read

We've still not unpacked

There is no space

We never did anything there anyway

Our flat is packed with stolen goods

Of value totalling six pounds

Prime among them the Causewayend Code:

We keep our hands to ourselves

And never hurt with words.

Planet

Planet

Islands sink and sailors drink and

Land flows into the sea

As rigs explode, the set is closed

Around the river and me

I try to write yet it drips life

From depths I'll never beat

A pattern sewn by Earth alone

My stitching cannot pleat

From cycled waves of maelstrom graves

For bodies overboard

Come insect young, born on the tongues

Of heads that wash ashore

I can't begin to comprehend

The rules that spawned this hell

My thoughts wear down and circle round

Like convicts in their cells

We scuttle on this astral skull

Before our solar Ra

But human lips will never kiss

The tongue of the enigma

Our planet sets its hunting nets
Of time and patient pace

As one who floats among the suns

And far from human grace