Poetry

Enough!

I got asked a question today.
Leading word, Why. In my
experience the only significant way
to annoy me is to ask Why,
Why do you stick around Society,
If you hate the sleaze, the sly,
The devious, and how, they ask,
Aren’t you one of them? Why?

Lower your senses, you swine.
You think my opinion makes a scrap
of difference to the way they drink their wine,
eat their hor d’ouvres, and kneecap
each other with stilettos on the parquet
dancefloor, well it doesn’t. At all.
Nor does it matter at all what I say,
I can babble and blast and cat-call
however I want, it takes more than that to sway
those ballgown-suffocating people.
And face it – you know I’m right,
Society’s nose is turned up from the urchins to the church steeple,
and from the Mid-day and the Mid-night,
It matters shit to them, what time they gather to intermingle,
And to spit and lie when their opponent is out of sight,
They’ve not got the pride to open their rusty mouth,
to spill their curses to my face, well!
I do not offer them the courtesy of my tongue.

A scrawl on a wall told me to follow
what I’m good at, and not what I like,
which to some days I regret. A hollow
life protrudes through, a heart-intersecting-spike,
But yet I live comfortably when I learn to swallow
that damned pride I desire, and I strike
the Society’s rooms with my presence. To recieve
the little titbits of what those ladies know I crave,
I can put up a lie, I spend my whole life to deceive,
what stops me from doing it now? The tongue
between my teeth, and the taste of blood is my relief
from this little violin horror show! Begone!
I have had enough!

Enough!
Enough of the second-eyed stares,
Time enough to remind you not a single one of you cares!
Open your lockets of your most dear,
Look how you’ve betrayed them, shed a damned tear!
Don’t make me dance yet another waltzing tune
with a hand on heart and rhythm in unison,
Sooner I be dead, dead and gone,
Than hear the tap of one-two-three and three-two-one;
Sooner I hear the click of a snuff box close,
Than be able to see up every bloody nose
of the men who toss their heads back and let their laughter roar,
You can hear the mighty bellow from across the floor!
Sooner I see the light in their eyes fade,
As I expose this expensively-uniformed charade;
Sooner I kill myself than suffer more of this stuff,
Let met to the middle of the floor, let me shout my, “Enough!”

And then…
When, in the silence, the sound of a pin…
Might just – just – be heard…
I realise I truly shouted my word.
Not only that, my mouth keeps going,
Slandering the night, my tongue is sowing
the seeds of my expulsion from this little clique,
Well, I didn’t say I wanted to stay in it,
But oh! how they stare! With their illustrious eyes,
Like molten orbs, their gazes is my prize,
Forget the sordid poem of love on my desk at home,
The downfall of a God! In me!
They advance, hands a-grasp,
Some Men faint, some Ladies gasp,
Eager to toss me far out of the door,
Come on, simpletons, throw me more!
Into the bushes of fungus statement,
Over the fountain, onto the pavement,
My sleeves are torn, revealing skin,
Hello, true horror lurking within
your ugly Society, I knew it was true!
You’re nothing without me!
But I’m something without you!

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For this one

Well. What happened there?
I’ll admit – I’m as curious as the next,
But asking is something I am practiced
in not doing when it comes to
this one.

 

For anyone else, I’d ask until my
throat was dry, my lips were chapped,
My voice was a broken record. But not now.
I have no questions for
this one.

 

It’s not a problem. Have I ever
seen this one’s face? No, it remains
fictional as a crafted world. But isn’t
that where I met
this one?

 

“Something unimportant” was the
tagline for this fictional world and yet
it sparked something comfortable. I have
been jealous for hours over
this one.

 

I wish the best. Always have done.
Through differences, through similarities,
I wish the best. As insignificant as my wishes are,
I still wish the best for
this one.

 

I won’t tell you I worry, for
you’d be loath to hear it anyway. I’ll
shrug it out of my mind. I’ll smile, even if it’s
forced. But it’s the least I can do for
you.

Come and Dance with Me

Come and dance with me – no?

Come and dance with me – no,

Come and dance with me,

Oh please. And don’t you reject me,

 

Come and dance with me – “yes?”

Come and dance with me – “yes,”

Come and dance with me,

Oh come and dance with me?

 

Come. Come. Come. Come – Come – Come.

Dance. Dance. Dance – Dance – Dance – Dance.

 

Come and dance with me – oh!

Come and dance with me – oh!

Come and dance with me – oh!

Come and dance with me – oh!

 

Just dance.

I’m sick of waiting for you.

If you won’t dance with me then –

Just dance, just dance, just dance, just dance.

 

Just.

Dance.

Hardly Even a Sonnet

Dipping – dancing – curling – swirling,

And a thousand other words for the actions of the heart

when its cantering pace is trebled by the next morsel of

attractive flesh sauntering its carefree way by.

And aren’t they all piti-

ful. An exacting standard for any romantic – hopeless

or otherwise – prepared to dip his quill to pen his passion,

And make the nib just dance across papyrus –

New hand-written font,

The curls and stresses of Es and Cs,

The swirls and tresses of Yous and Mes,

A stanza set apart – just like – the harsh arrhythmia

that unrequited craving brings—

 

… And whose curséd spell I remain beneath. Damn.

Move

SHOULD I
allow whatever I must give myself to fall in the slowest possible way
to the tiled floor beneath the infinite landscape of the universe
and should I
try to beat the falling objects to the floor only to watch them
shatter completely into nothing?

Because,
And I may have held them five seconds ago,
They were worth something then
but they are worth nothing now. So should I
let them go with unflinching and uncaring eyes
as I, too, lean backwards over the dark blue infinite?

Just like
The curtains above my head when I stand on the far wall
with the floor on my left shoulder,
I fall the wrong way every way completely.
I want to beat what I drop to the tiled floor, and yet I
only feel myself falling upwards.

But here
in this uncertainty that the people with the minds call the universe,
But what I will always continue to know as simply, Nothing,
I doubt it matters which direction things fall in. Because
all of us, whether we have our feet on this blue earth spinning faster than water every second,
or whether we fall the wrong way in this vast Nothing,
None of us move anyway.

As It Moves Itself

At last, at last, at last.

I can hear Silence.

It buzzes inside my cranium

and the lack of noise is nothing short of terrifying.

It slowly shifts through me,

Robbing me of my remaining senses.

Sight. gone. Ocular windows open but

dead. Touch. Gone. The tingling of deprivation is gone too.

Taste. Gone. The roof of my mouth is empty of taste.

Smell. Gone. And my head fills with a cold

freshness. Like a wave of spiralling

hands, the deadness moves through me,

mixing into my body and killing it slowly

and I decay like a weed free from soil,

And my soul is released into an

endless black void.

Where it, I, lies softly and silently,

Humming faintly with heat and inaudible sound,

But it, I, will not be alone for long.

For I shall take others with me with my mind’s spiralling

wave-hands that move like worms through the smallest cracks in others

and up, up, into their minds where they begin to unhinge as it,

I, covers the internal oval windows in their brains,

So they, too, feel the

buzzing of

complete Silence.

 

And when their soul becomes an it,

them, my own will grasp it softly, hands touching

without sense on either of their, our, souls.

Come with me.

And be free.

At last, you can know what it is to live forever,

At last, you can feel the deistic bliss only reserved for Gods,

At last, you can be sure that there is land

beyond this senseless and tingling wall of Death.

I’m Allowed To Be

IF
And I repeat, IF
I’ve been to the depths, I can
judge for myself the highs
and the lowest
darkest
hidden realities and turnaround cul-de-sacs of endless light for myself.
I am not a blind bat in the darkness, I have two eyes that work less-than-perfectly,
And
even if I’m not the most
well
if I’ll look behind and see someone –
And I saw them once before –
recognition of them is minimal by my eye. So
I’ll probably overlook some more vital infor
mation, maybe the importance. Of it all.
But-

Either way.
I am not a blind bat in the darkness, I have two eyes that work less-than-perfectly,
And
even if I’m not the most
watchful – perhaps? – I can still
notice enough to make up my mind.
I can still see enough down here in the depth to cover myself completely.
I will learn all even if I want to know none of it.
I will watch and listen and try to smile despite the writhing I feel inside myself.

Imagine a projector screen with
me in front of it
ebbing black pixels. Ebbing. Pushing, throbbing, pulsating. Any of the words that might de
scribe the action of the screen behind me – and my shadow,
Not obstructing anything,
Yet, but
then from the corners
fuchsia spikes. Because I know
genuinely
that pain and pleasure are one and the same.
Despite the opposite realities of each one.
Fuchsia spikes closing in
and I merely stand
and watch
and listen
and learn.
While the screen attacks me from behind and I close my eyes as the screen shines
pink into them, all into them, behind them and through them.
But they don’t kill me.

My shadow, down here, blocks them. My back is defended. And, if I
turn to face the screen,
My front will be defended also.

Do you see yet?
I don’t
I don’t
I don’t

need

anything. Not your eyes, not your skin not your
words in my ears, not your arteries, not
your praises, not anything. I just need myself.
To be,
To learn,
To grow.

I am deeper than you think. Every silence is wrought with
pain and all I want is someone to shine a torch in
to the dark and look after me.
But I am turning my back on that. Rely on no one, no one
will shine as well as I do.
I know where I hurt.
I know where to put the bandages.
I know where the edges are.
How they fall.
How they blunt every issue I have.
And how,
With a single moment,
I can ignore them all and heal myself.
I am deeper

so much deeper

than you think.

And wiser, I am wiser than you think. Find my number and remove all the numbers and replace them with letters, I will
Tell you the colours of them,
One
by
one. Because
I know more. I know so much more. I know myself and
I know everyone else. There is a reason for what I’ve
been called. And what people see me as,
And that I can be taken,
So easily,
As a fool. Because I am a fool.

Despite my wisdom.

I am a
fool. And even
if I think I am
strong, even
if
I think I can
lift something
either
Physical
or
Mental
I am most times wrong.

So.

IF. You think I’m happy,
I’m most not.
IF. You think I’m easy,
I’m most not.

BUT. I am deeper than
you might care to think about.
BUT. I am wiser than
you might care to think about.

That’s the issue.
Read me.
Ignore me.
Face me.
Block me.
Stab me.
Say things you know will hurt me.
I am more than that if I can turn my back,
Shine my own light onto the places that hurt,
Because I know that even if…
Even IF
I’m sad, I’m allowed to be.
I’m happy, I’m allowed to be.
I’m furious, I’m allowed to be.
I’m ill, I’m allowed to be.
I’m scarring, I’m allowed to be.
I’m different, I’m allowed to be.
I’m naked, I’m allowed to be.
I’m cast, I’m allowed to be.
I’m…

I’m allowed to be.

Always.

Always allowed to be.

Badge-Men

I’ll raise that single sleeve again, soaked in the
taste and stink of my whiskey and gin,
And stagger out into the copses of
honeysuckle and rosebushes
To vomit.

Never stray too far from the track though, no
matter how far from sober I may feel I
am. Because, armed with bronze and brass
badge in hand, my favourite party-crasher
will find my misfortune in all its glory.

Tell him nothing, give him only head-
shakes and lies. Because,
If after tonight, I was sent back where I just
emerged from, I’d have more to fear than just that
bronze and brass he holds up.

You must listen to me. Because
with that small item sitting in his palm,
He is all-powerful. May it say his
name or his number, it does not matter. His
badge is plain death for us, straight and true.

Where should we run to, to drink next?
Hush-hush tavern or head-shake house of
sins? I’ll add an extra to your drink tonight, just
to see how you are. Just to make sure I can
push you to the badge-man and run.

I am not a loyal companion when raised
up behind the bar. Because, like any good
enemy would, I’d consider myself before I’d
ever think of you. But don’t worry.
We’re friends now.

Laid down as your eyes begin to turn
fuzzy, I ask the nearest playgirl to help me
lift you. I’ll play the role of your concerned
and anxious best friend. Too tied up in my
own worry to wonder if my arms will break.

Her strength is a minor addition and I push you
at the feet of the awaiting badge-man who,
As I said he would,
Lifts from his pocket his accursed bronze
and brass. So I push and run. Push and run.

In due time, I’ll receive a call from you when
I’m out of breath and out of money,
Curled up in some copse somewhere as
I struggle not to let my unconsciousness
become flat and miserable death.

The true me has appeared. I would not
blame you for being scared. I told you the
very first time we met. Rub your back
I never did, lift you free of the fence I
never did. So maybe it was there all along.

Bloody me and bloody trust, I hear
your voice from down the line already. I am
no longer struck by ethanol, that passed a
while ago. So I lie on my side with hardly
the strength to keep your voice in my ear.

Field after field they search for me. The
scary badge-men and accomplices. To think that
the people I sacrificed you to to save myself from
would be the ones I wish I could cry for
as I lie in my own vomit. Dying.

 

 

Thanks, Levi.

Synaesthesia

When the deep red world forgets who you are,
And the singular slip petals are enough to send you down,
And the cast iron smiles are enough to send you down,
To the very base – the last of which I never even laid my orbs upon –
in the wettest and cosiest hell,
Perhaps you’ve lost sight of what it was you wanted,
After all,
You fell so easily.

But saviour yet. Because
given the single cell gasps I’ve seen throughout
my colour life,
I’ve never heard one like yours.

You see. When I speak and see the words invisible before me,
They are coloured. And somehow everything loses itself when
I notice. How may I describe it to you before I let you safe?
Or climb on my back. We’ll talk as we fly.

Climb on my back. We’ll talk as we fly.

Gentress of the most fine and glorious nature,
Been ripping in my psyche longer than I ever felt it,
Which was from birth,
And the Gentress wont stay but for now,
For almost twenty years,
My Gentress has cast this curse upon me.

Forever in colour but never blind to it. Do you see?
And when you start to notice,
And when you want everything lined up,
You fall down again.

Hang on tighter. Amazing how you fell into a place so blue
Yet a word so red. Blue and grey. But yet,
Red. You know. Red and red and red.
Fall into a place that I understand next time.

Next time, fall not into the sea.

IV: The True Freedom – Care [Lull]

III: The True Freedom – Need [Lull]

Caring – about people, about things, about life – is an act of maturity.
– Tracy McMillan

 

Truly passionate individual,

Whose own spirit drifts on unaccomplished,

By even the smallest of pinprick silences,

And whose eyes – forever glowing

from the heat of their unrewarded generosity and certainty –

will one day rot, just as all ours will, within the ground.

 

Just as mine will glaze with each step,

Concrete – to dirt – to concrete – to wasps’ nest –

Again and again –

Seeing the helpless and hungerful traveller,

His travel halted by the unquenchable hunger of starvation,

And I do not extend my hand,

My eyes will rot, just as all ours will, within the ground.

Just as the eyes with passion will.

 

So! -I hear. What, pray you tell, is the point?

To be so blunt and disfigured within yourself,

And to hold onto nothing more on your deathbed than the fact that

you were a Good Person on arrival. So

what? Go on your way, sitting patiently in the waiting room that is

Purgatory, a place you so drastically believed in, which,

of course,

is irrational.

I will continue on, isolated during my own tar-stricken death,

knowing I’ve done nothing but Ruin, and yet our fates are the same.

Cold, unflattering earth upon our round faces, bruised by death and patience.

 

So! -I hear. What, pray you tell, is the point?

Here is the point.

Be rid. I have spoken, often, to take away and never to give.

But to give is to do nothing. My sister is half of me.

To attempt, to even admit to trying to salvage some

goodness within herself, it is false. So, I urge her,

The words never leaving my head, never casting a bitter taste

to my grey tongue, Be rid. I’d whisper.

Follow your half. Learn to bask in yourself and to reject humility.

For no matter who winds up hating you

No one will hate you as much as yourself. And no

one will accept you as much as the earth to your body when you

inevitably fall from your rightful place in the Aurora and into

the fresh casket I will prepare for you. I will not die until you do.

 

Yes. I care, I care too much. Enough to destroy whole corners.

But you! -sweetness that you are, do not. Should not.

Begin when you awake. Cast yourself around the world

always stepping in the sunlight,

and never take your eyes off the moon. Beggars

will be invisible to you, corporations no more than

mere cancerous lumps as you sweep on by,

avoiding them. Like all. Twist yourself enough,

and leave me far below as you screw yourself in

like a jigsaw. This missing shade of navy,

Above,

Casting the most beautiful shadows on the hideous landscape

as you lie your serene head down on the velvet

not even whispering a good-night to your protector.

Then I will know I have succeeded.

 

Awake. Sister.

Cast yourself around the world.

Always stepping in the sunlight.

And never taking your eyes off the moon.

 

V: The True Freedom -Material [Lull]