Thursday 20 February 2014

Perseus Braveing The Tethered Crawl

The Box With No Bottom,
It Never Was Less The LidLess Hoax,
Than To UnFold At The Corners,
Peel Back...
...
And Give...
...
To A DisTended Shadow,
Faded And Silhouetted By Rounder Shapes...
...
Of Falling Simple For Flaps,
In Case Of Hungered Gasps,
Its Last Views Through A Somber Vista...
...
The World With No Geography,
It Ever Was More The EyeFull Coax,
Than To Curl Up At The Curves,
Reel Forth...
...
And Take.





Monday 17 February 2014

Epoxynihiliberaetoratory


Cloneing ItSelf InTo Submergence,
Splitting ItSelf InTo ReFormation,
InTo Subversion And PreDominateion,
Each Gifted With A Mouth For Weening,
Forgetting A Legion For The Solitudes Of Many,
Hollow-Tipped Lappings From The Flood,
Coiling Symbiotic Co-Dependence,
Siamese Time Machine Latched OnTo John Bunyan's Spine...
...
A Land Of The Vertebrae To Convert Far And Wide,
InTo Immersion And Commensurateion... Duellum Et Fide,
Teachings Lifted With A Bobbing For Apples,
Fortresses Built From WithIn Prosthetic Legends,
Mellow-Lipped Tappings From Above The RoofTops,
Boiling Symbolic Retrospectives,
Pertinent Vacuum Mechanics Switched ForeGoing The Laws Of Fluid Dynamics,
AHead Of The Origins Of Man To Invert Ears And Stride.




Tuesday 11 February 2014

The Lost Cause Of The Progenial Mundane

The Lost Son Burned For Hundreds Of Kilometers,
An Only Engine ACross The Spark-Jetting Track,
Silver-Bullet Cometing On InterContinental Iron,
UnDieing Steel Smashing InTo The Thin Air Shields Of Buffoons...
...
Those Gods Armed With Blowing Horns And UnUberance Universal,
Some Drifting On Prairie Fumes And Trade Winds,
Latching UpOn The Wild Grasses By The EndLess Stretch Of Rail...
...
Some Of Those Gods Would Find A Method To Siphon The Anchorage
From AnyThing Rolling OnThrough To Stop And ReFuel,
Then Latch OnTo The Speed Like HagFish On Oxen-Carnival Bleeders,
Recedeing In Their Morbid Weenings To Secret BoneYards...
...
Where All Would DisEmbark From The SoulLess Molting,
Cackleing As Cross-Eyed Ravenous InTo The Circleing Gutted Skys...
...
...
They Could Pose Once Again By The Station,
BetWixt The Legs And Feet And Luggage,
Hugging Against What Life May Be In Exposure To Calming Promises,
AWaiting For ShoeLaces To Be ReTied And Ears To Nibble And Coy...
...
The Buffoons Saw The Lost Son As A Challenge For Blood-Letting,
For Lost Causes To Eat AWay At The Prodigal Drive,
PreTenseion To Swim ASide The Clot From The InGenuity,
Wagering Hoarded TimeShare And Bickering Over First Rights
For The Choice Cuts,
Only To Become Silent As The Engine Could Be Heard...
...
...
It Switched The LandScape With A Sudden Cracking Of Seldom-Feared Thunder,
Tracks Bent Now Straightened... Where Straightened Now Bent,
Hills TransFormed InTo Gullys Swallowing ThemSelves In White-Water,
Bridges Grew InTo DisLocated Forests Only To Settle For Briar-Hearted Mockerys
To Scratch The Former's Hand,
And Where Old Air Could Be Trusted...  No More... Now Walls Fortified For Lazy Susans...
...
...
It Was Enough To Keep The Gods Guessing...
...
...
UnFortunately,
The Buffoons Soon Developed A Trick To Grow InTo Flesh,
Then To Crawl And Not Float,
Then To Walk And Then To Chase,
Then To Stumble When Not Seen... At Times To Tumble, For The Need Of Sympathy's Pitch...
...
All In New Postures,
With New Language And Wearing Silly Buttons Pinned InTo Their Starch-Stiffs,
They Sought An Easyer Method To Suck InTo Their Guts
That Which The Lost Son Had Sung InTo Deliverance...
...
A Forgotten Frequency,
With Its Station Never A Station,
Nor Built With Platforms Too Beggar'd For Destinations Not Scheduled,
And Those With Memorys Of It To Be Cursed With Waiting For It To Pull Them...
...
Out...
...
Out From The Roads Where No Tracks Meet,
And No Answers Come To Pass.





Saturday 8 February 2014

Laura May Be As Single As One Liveing Free To Dive

Show Me The Reasons For Laurel'd Posture,
As You Plant Your Avoided Nearness InTo The Fog,
With Spells Encased In Ice Cubes And Then InTo A Checker'd Plateau,
Loosely With The Office Dependance For Manager Cabinets And Wooded Panels,
With Those High CheekBones To An Alligator's Green Misery,
Thumping With A Blight Of Locusts For A Chance Of Precepitation...
...
GrassHopper Lessons For The Indian Summer,
Wishing AWay The Grammer School Flunky...
...
...
I Only Think To Be... What I Am... Only Being As I Be...
...
...
Oh, If I Could Approach At Will To Thy Wrinkled Ear,
In Thy Final Blinks AWay From The Fadeing Of Grey UpOn Black,
To See The Distant Velvet OnTo Ye... A Traveller WithIn A Block-Book'd Caravan,
Past The Silk Ribbons And Bushels Of Ready'd Wheat At Thy Feeding InTo Anxiety,
Ye Had The Charm To Call Upon A Life OnTo Tears...
...
...
InTo The Giver Of Secrets,
Thatching Not One Straw For Your Bohemian Door Wedge,
Selling The Blank Stare As Avatar... A Mystic In A Cardigan,
With A Face To Tilt The Sea From Its Salt...
...
...
But First Ye Need Only To Scry InTo Thy Pond For Ripples,
For The Heavyest Of Stones To Skip A Beatened Path...
...
Why... For WithOut That To Bring The Cobbler,
To Your Stone... Perhaps... To Thy Fullest...
...
...
As I Take My Leave,
As Ye Would Take Thy Fill.












Thursday 6 February 2014

El Torero Cabaret

Heavy UpOn The Shoulders,
A Mountain Giant,
And From WithIn The Dominion Of Its Skull,
All Wet And Bundled Into A Carriage Of Blankets,
The Grit And Dew...
...
...
Up Above The Slope And Grade,
To The One-Eyed In Recluse And Wool,
Picking At The Meat Left In Fugal Wicker,
When At Leisure Not By The Heated Of Discussion,
Resting Its Head By A Grinding Brook...
...
When Alerted By Snouted Draft,
It Learns To Lean Back UpOn The Nearly Deaf,
A Minute For Depressions Left To ReMind,
For It To Organize InTo Romantics...
...
Chocolately Enticeing To The Immigrant,
Whose Lines Lead Out From Places Of Plantains To Tambourines,
Surrounding All States To Surrender,
Mothers Hurriedly Takeing Those Whites Off ...
...
...
These Days Be As Enveloped As Be Stamped,
Cleaner Than The Ways Of Older Pushes,
Loyal To The Swerve...
...
A Riposte Over The Bulge,
Answering To The Trickle-Down,
InTo The Coded Cork...
...
...
For Twins... InTwine... In Trust To Be Not With Sleep's Brother,
As Those Of  Lacking Be Respected In Age...
...
Though It Be Only Performed In Etiquette,
Never True To The Cutlery... And Seldom Seen Parrying With The Cloth.






Saturday 1 February 2014

The Sword Of Lucretia

Eventually...
...
The Lost Horizon's DownSide Be Righted UpWards,
From The Howling GraveYards Of Rusting Ships And DriftWood,
A Solitude Amongst Rats To Be In The Short End For Hustlers,
No Acquiescence To Complete A Swim To Rapture's Perturbation,
Only Phantom'd Approach From The Angle Of Decay,
As Survivors Excavate From Memory To Scavenge And ReScavenge,
From The Belly Of A Common Wealth...
...
Under Sand... To UnderStand...
...
...
And... To Cross Their Hearts,
Hopeing For The Die To Roll Face-Up On Tales,
As Coins Be As Dice... The Minutes To The Hours Be Flattened,
Laid Easy To Bury... By Last Rites Of Passage Spoken,
Where Cupping To The Heart Be Not A Matter Of Simple Chance,
No...
...
To Silence The Mouth,
The Fadeing Of The Killing Blow,
Softened By The Naked Breast...
...
Yes...
...
That Naked Truth,
See How It Engorges UpOn A Life To Bleed,
As It Feeds To The Broken To Patch Over Chasms,
Rowing The EyeLid To Stutter,
For Milk To Sculpt A Bite...
...
Saliva And Tears Switching To Drip,
To Eat AWay At Sight...
..
And Absorb InTo AbSoluteion,
All Taste To Haste Not The UnBridled Spine...
...
From Future...
...
And Fury.