Mortar and Pestle

Mortar and pestle

My Friday night ritual

I've been crushing on you for years

Dressed up in your latex suit

The red light gleaming off your boots

I'll see you again in Xanadu

The dead will rise

You'll see your mother's eyes

For the first time

Your lover knocks

Takes off your prison smock

Cleared of your crimes

Time is always relative

The extract filters through the sieve

I still feel your lips upon my face

Bitter as a poison leaf

More certain than true, just, belief

Darling, I'm floating your way

The dead will rise

You'll see your mother's eyes

For the first time

Your lover knocks

Takes off your prison smock

Cleared of your crimes

When I heard you singing late

Rope held in your hands

My summer sense migrated

To far crepuscular lands

Now I can hear that tune

Sounding in my dome

The more I taste of the red moon

The less I am alone

The dead will rise

You'll see your mother's eyes

For the first time

Your lover knocks

Takes off your prison smock

Cleared of your crimes

The dead will rise

You'll see your mother's eyes

For the first time

Your lover knocks

They've picked your mind's last lock

And you are sublime

21st Century Forest Titan

21^st Century Forest Titan

Buried alive under the old forest

My limbs are tendrils curled round roots and stone

While above the pagans make their naked fest

I am the spirit of being alone.

Let fly horns bought at romantic supplies

The Celtic people dance round their fire

Nipples like gargoyles for the night flies

Will shun the existential void's mire

I hear the pumping of their feet as round

They leap and caper like faeries or dogs

I feel the fucking in my deepest sounds

And hear the oaths made in secluded bogs

I can taste the ecstasy in your piss

Rolling down my furrows into my streams

I am too old for these beings yet miss

The surreal passion that flows like dreams

There is a prophecy I will awake

But I do not believe in human rites

I will stay buried under these old woods

And under foot of these ecstatic nights.

My Dear Paralysis

My Dear Paralysis

Do you dream of caves, cold and dismal,

Deeply buried far abyssal,
In utter trance, black as the lakes,

Which drown that esoteric place?

Once hours throttle limp your will,

And your hot blood has cooled to chill,

Your pulse has slowed until you're still,

Then dear, you must dream further.

Our planet is a spiny rose,

You pluck its petals as you doze,

You're the summer breeze, and blossom you blow,

My dear, you're adorable sleeping.

Beneath those vaults of inhuman gloom,

Below the mantle of Earth's bloom,

Under the waves of fiery doom,

There is a vale of nectar.

And in that valley was told a poem,

(Like this, but better known,

Published in a collected tome)

And the people dreamt of caves above them.

It related how she dreaded in sleep,

The ghastly dens of that aerial keep,
How when she woke, above her looming,

A paralysis towered, black visage fuming,

His voice was hallucinatory booming,

And so he spoke:

“I am your creation; I cannot die,

A cure for your problem; I cannot apply,

For I am a phantom and I am a lie:

You are alone.”