A Hindsight Dream

Clarity called; I could not hear her...

I was far from fair moments

Where rust doesn't fall,

From a sky without song.

I heard only wails, wailing
SHRIEKS
Fucking exploding!

Like flimsy lightning.

Unravelled now, all but picked away

The scab of a psyche
Half-healed this purple shame!
A withered memory, choked into hiding.

But see how it leaks into wounded view...
Twice as visible and vulnerable
As it would be -
If left to fester undisturbed,

In the evil cell,

Of my noon-night memory

Just like grape skin fermenting -
In the pit of a cheap wine.

A strange rain weeps now, kissing my brow.

Steam hisses and howls at the touch
Of my extinguished thought trail,
And I find myself again twenty-one.

But beneath the frail mask
Of my wild jester's grin,

I am still a quivering malleable soul.
Sealing myself off, brick by brick

In the blue-eyed loneliness of youthful design.

As Homeless as The Moon in the Daytime

My heartbeat is boring
All my dreams are snoring
My soul is starving, gnawing -
On every broken bone

Lost my lust for lovers
Loneliness discovers
A prettier plague than any other -
That kisses with a drink

The thin king in the past tense
Thought about his innocence
Prolonging pretty dalliance -

Whilst witches bear beauty

Hopeful are the homeless
Broken men that go bless
Pale skies that they no less -
Than call their stateless home

Free of pain and pleasantry
Speak my thoughts in mimicry
Kiss the hand of jealousy -
Then whisper in her ear

“Spend a thousand pennies
Borrow just as many
But never waste any -
pauper’s precious time”

Appease the hungry migrants
Singing songs to clothe silence
Whilst devils dancing to violence -
Awaken ancient war

Dawn draws her rusted sword
The ghost of some ragged lord
And duels he that she can’t afford -
To defeat in time

A Jeweler’s fine old gold locket
Against the Thief’s artful pocket
Like an Elephant born, without a tusk -
What is the Dawn without the Dusk?

On Recieving a Ransom Note for a Crumbled Queen

Oh it must be rumbled the rosy rouse!
Of this devil’s pale sky mask,

Smiling, yet stood accused,
Of selling the hopeful hip flask’s
Sober secret.

Fuck you.
Your plastic poise promises -
That which it can’t deliver
A silver sea that withers,
swimming in silver quivers.
A solvent that can’t seal seams, seeming
To aspire to be heard not seen -

In a plastic crown, this crumbled queen,
Is blinded by the painless peel of your paint,
Of your bought beauty beyond taint!

Pretence is your husband’s name,
A marriage of shame, his pearls detained.
He dances like a jester in your bland monarchy,
And kisses the pearls that choke mediocrity,
Of all the powdered poofs he is the most pretty!
A blade of green in your grey-scale city.

Oh but still you request he returns,
To put on ice, this passion that burns!
And put those silly dreams to bed,
Little quirks, more thought than said.

Against the grain this slight return -
Alights here, for a station in the dark.
Your voice raises cause for concern,

Dripping false from a question mark.

Have a quiet word with silent applause,
You’ll hear no concern left for your cause.

Might the Morning?

Might the morning be so polite?
To leave me be whilst I invite,
A lonely friend of the night
To lend me his sense of sight.

So that I should feel less sore
as a sight for a fewer four – who
without glasses are but a paltry two!
Morning, I mean to say its you.

Might the evening lend me its scent?
A luxury that looms magnificent.
I am but a stale paled gent,

Stood in the shade of sunlight spent.

Might I speak in my own voice?

Time beckons to “make a choice”
Whether to wither, James or Joyce
Might I speak in my own voice?

Might I beg a chance to make?

My stomach hungry, my thirst slaked,
The Fagin’s gamble on a winning stake,
Or a pretty moment where hearts break.

Might the morning softly tread?

And not disturb the dreaming dead,
Who once beheld beauty, instead -
of the eyes that these words have read.