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what a waste that is the beast called me
i have a dream of street lights for all my prose
a sweeping knife edge mulching through the puss
the angle of the (censored) screams with golden raindrops of hue
wing mirror death of ejector breath, i stutter and spit far away
where is the shine of my past present
future life in...
away from home a cold place i should be, the child of alba wanting return.
wait a while live another 10 days then return to the home place where it all
began
the clock work toy that rolled along the floor hit another ball along the way
for good luck
arsenal1 and manu 2 and west ham 4 and chelsea 3, saturdays make me passive to
life
escort, wheelies and trim, adidas hat with sovereign ring, t-cut hair makes me
reach for drink
nokia ericsson and vouchers, ellesse and puma with classics to match, throw in
blonde bimbo for effect
garage and garage and inane sound, fakes of sussex with W1 accents and untrue
tales of london life.
Garner me a pitchfork forthe boys, and fuck off sharpish as i yawn..
The wonderous high of a union jack filled night of beer and women. i sigh.
Garters and stockings, mixed with regret and a million lies, i find my socks.
Front door grinning, wedding band is tighter, rehersal is perfect, im ok, he he.
Sorted, there i go, then she says "who's nickers are they in your pocket??"
aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Floating free
Floating above heaven, I knew you looked yourself. like a bird with lactose a spirit free.
Oh
so beautiful, a beauty I taste.
2
wings so free, so devoid of hate .
Loving
what has passed and gained, dreaming about times past, such happy times of love
and fear, joined in a crescendo of beauty, of likeness, of common haste.
The
clouds below, huge and cold, mean nothing as your wings flap and twinge, as
towns meander and fall, as swallows call.
Bursting
(bags)
I saw initial phases,reaching for my overworked gait.
I saw too much hypocrisy,hatred as I stumble to the wrong place.
The other people are right and my life is fore-cast.
On a sea of trait and bile,overlooked,I triumph with regret and seething anger.
Will my soul talk to me?Or do I just follow..
The life and crimes are hindered,like a brand of sorts.
I observe and fall, my life carrying me…stumbling and shallow.
Do I proceed and die or rot in a place called “community”.?
The cam that time forgot
Bleak,like a thoughtful island,in june,windswept from the black heart.
Wonderous of the amazing futility of birth and irreverence of death…I came to think.
“where do I look” “where do I feel” “where is the bond?”
My life, like an enraged game of dominoes, with swooning chasms of grief.
The elves and the shoe-maker once said to me “leave it ‘till the morrow..you’ll see.
So I did, and the shadows passed me by with that sound of echoing………..
END
He is not alive.He is not dead just passing a tide of nostalgia for times (falls)
Help the one without a mask and elastoplast.Of wake and sleep he found a sprite path of chrome gliss and footweb.DOTS
dont sit there and whinge...come over here and finger my minge (c) PVC2001