Throw away your mind
And stow your head,
Forget the so-called truths you find --
Truth is already dead!
This is a house of lies,
Myriad eyes.
Falsehood
Stains the wood,
Lies brood
In the food --
There is no trace
Of your face
Left in your portrait,
That is a rendition of hate
And this is your fate.
All the skeletons wait
In closets shut,
You sense it in your gut,
But drawn to your demise
You see with blinkered eyes.
You turn in laboured motion
As you're drowned in the commotion,
Hands outstretched for help from the stranger
You learn the truth and see the danger.
All the conspiracy's men
Have taken positions again
To push you into dire situations,
They conspire to bring their creations
To life and light,
Moving limbs in the shadows of night.
Plans fructified
And scenarios eyed --
All of them lied.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Responsibility Claimed
The triggered revelation of death
Opened their eyes,
Tongues of shrapnel burnt with truth --
Knives through butter spreading realisation.
The peeled physiques of vulnerability
Screaming injustice,
Innocent eyes melted in sockets.
Instantaneous initiation into the most
Inexclusive club around:
The dead.
The car flickered with a yolk of flame,
Its shell cracked,
The body inside lifeless --
He'd been told to drive or his family died,
His smeared cheeks and bleared eyes
Followed the road until he
Stopped dead...
The clocks hands came together
And the clap called for no encore --
This was the final act.
The curtains of flame sprang up
And out;
Conflict's flower bloomed in the street.
The prone bodies of horses,
Riderless,
Littered the streets:
Foam flecked lips pulled back over teeth.
The incendiary device was owned by the --
Who claimed responsibility,
Regretted innocent deaths
And left a family mourning
With a husband and father
Already cremated for his funeral.
Opened their eyes,
Tongues of shrapnel burnt with truth --
Knives through butter spreading realisation.
The peeled physiques of vulnerability
Screaming injustice,
Innocent eyes melted in sockets.
Instantaneous initiation into the most
Inexclusive club around:
The dead.
The car flickered with a yolk of flame,
Its shell cracked,
The body inside lifeless --
He'd been told to drive or his family died,
His smeared cheeks and bleared eyes
Followed the road until he
Stopped dead...
The clocks hands came together
And the clap called for no encore --
This was the final act.
The curtains of flame sprang up
And out;
Conflict's flower bloomed in the street.
The prone bodies of horses,
Riderless,
Littered the streets:
Foam flecked lips pulled back over teeth.
The incendiary device was owned by the --
Who claimed responsibility,
Regretted innocent deaths
And left a family mourning
With a husband and father
Already cremated for his funeral.
Sharing Words
They do not speak his language --
He rolls out his speech
For his ideas to recline on
But the repose is uncomfortable:
A picket fence walks to the horizon
Dividing him and their perception --
He has inherited the legacy of Babel.
It no longer towers,
Sunk in the foundations of misunderstanding,
Only a home of ignorance is built.
Conflict cooks on the fire,
The hungry military mouths wait --
The aggressive minds are moths to moonlight,
Offensives are built up out of the map.
All the roads are blocked
And barricades erected,
And purposes set in the concrete of belief,
Spirits are steeled for war,
The magazines are loaded and clipped,
The fuses cut and the bombs placed:
This universal language has no barriers,
It crumbles them --
This is deconstruction of difference:
The similarity of death,
They speak this language.
The thunder of words invades heads,
Bodies are laid out
And bags for the bodies to recline in,
The repose is not uncomfortable
For they are past comfort --
So are the flowing eyes
Reading the telegram,
Sharing words in the tongue of mourning.
He rolls out his speech
For his ideas to recline on
But the repose is uncomfortable:
A picket fence walks to the horizon
Dividing him and their perception --
He has inherited the legacy of Babel.
It no longer towers,
Sunk in the foundations of misunderstanding,
Only a home of ignorance is built.
Conflict cooks on the fire,
The hungry military mouths wait --
The aggressive minds are moths to moonlight,
Offensives are built up out of the map.
All the roads are blocked
And barricades erected,
And purposes set in the concrete of belief,
Spirits are steeled for war,
The magazines are loaded and clipped,
The fuses cut and the bombs placed:
This universal language has no barriers,
It crumbles them --
This is deconstruction of difference:
The similarity of death,
They speak this language.
The thunder of words invades heads,
Bodies are laid out
And bags for the bodies to recline in,
The repose is not uncomfortable
For they are past comfort --
So are the flowing eyes
Reading the telegram,
Sharing words in the tongue of mourning.
Friday, August 11, 2006
special
Never close to death and further from life
Looking over the shoulder to copy answers
Orbiting dance floors like an irregular comet
The spit at the bottom of a beer glass
A collector of dead men drinking dregs
The photograph you burn was borrowed
The romance you had was second hand
Puking up Shakespeare because it was too rich to stomach
Fencing with chopsticks to pick up Basho
Who you choke on between mouthfuls of the always chosen special
How special is special when you always have the special?
You have a pulse – in your salad
Looking over the shoulder to copy answers
Orbiting dance floors like an irregular comet
The spit at the bottom of a beer glass
A collector of dead men drinking dregs
The photograph you burn was borrowed
The romance you had was second hand
Puking up Shakespeare because it was too rich to stomach
Fencing with chopsticks to pick up Basho
Who you choke on between mouthfuls of the always chosen special
How special is special when you always have the special?
You have a pulse – in your salad
replaced
Does it hurt to be replaced with a seven-inch piece of rubber?
Does it hurt to replace someone with a seven-inch piece of rubber?
The slow abstraction of the absent other into pornographic fragments
Shattered into tits and a cunt your face struck out
It’s all motor reflexes and junk information
Both coming to a point
He thinks he’s the zenith and she the nadir
Closer to death in a heavy breath laced with fear
Does it hurt to be collaged out of a magazine?
Does it hurt to be rewound on a silver screen?
Does it hurt to replace someone with a seven-inch piece of rubber?
The slow abstraction of the absent other into pornographic fragments
Shattered into tits and a cunt your face struck out
It’s all motor reflexes and junk information
Both coming to a point
He thinks he’s the zenith and she the nadir
Closer to death in a heavy breath laced with fear
Does it hurt to be collaged out of a magazine?
Does it hurt to be rewound on a silver screen?
an understanding
God coming through in the correlations
Jesus in the timetables naming the stations
A ration of wine watered down spilt on a tablecloth
This is my station I better get off
Faith is a journey doctrine’s a branch line
The slow emerging bruise of cynicism
Goes from tooth rot black to urine yellow
And I hate it all much less as I mellow
The poetry of Solomon seduces
And I don’t have to be torn in half by secular and religious
Jesus in the timetables naming the stations
A ration of wine watered down spilt on a tablecloth
This is my station I better get off
Faith is a journey doctrine’s a branch line
The slow emerging bruise of cynicism
Goes from tooth rot black to urine yellow
And I hate it all much less as I mellow
The poetry of Solomon seduces
And I don’t have to be torn in half by secular and religious
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
