Fragment of a Conversation with Clarity.

And Clarity, she speaks in cellophane

Tempted to hurt a dying pain

Whilst I sit in the sun and think of rain

Crying out for the mundane,

On this lonely, lonely day.

Because endlessly revoked is the joke

That is my poetic license, after I was caught at speed

Thinking, without writing yet needing -

An outlet for my upset.

My words were surrounded by the drowned frown

Of a clown waking up

The truth, uncouth under the roof of gentle peace

Eclipsed, the sad decay of its architecture -

Nothing but an abandoned dream that haunts my brain.

Yet still it wills me to carry on, like a vulture

Feeds upon the carrion, without flight to ignite

Its shadowed soul in fair sight, it

Pales under the weight of my black night.

Whilst I cry out, bleeding conversation.

Without speaking a word

Without dreaming a dream

Tasting only the blue love of a cold beer

Without hearing what I’ve heard

Without screaming a scream

I hasten the cold glove of a blue sneer, to

Choke my features and distort my mind

To reveal me as I am, a sick cow

Now, a soaked creature reminded of
His silver-hearted teacher, and her talk of
Clarity. Its remains now but a drying thought,
as I remain here, dying of drought.