Inhospitable landscapes
And ****** canapés,
Give into grief
And metallic decay:
Your mind in situ.
Moral compasses compounded.

Green grows grey
Far swifter than you think.
In the blink of an eye
We'll see different skies.
A pale blue bloom
Will soon become doom and gloom,
And marigolds macabre,
Perfume of tulip and
Netherworlds of hubris,
Will consume the gold
And the grey.

Except
We're not there yet.
Giacommetti, Picasso and Muller foresaw:
We're all going to be ignored.

Ultimately.

A single state engrained into lore:
Deplorably thick custard creams
With a side of sea bream,
Quarter-loaf multi-seed bread
And half a shilling in the shed.

Unimaginable-
Immemorial.

Pass the headstone,
Don the frown.
The bright brown obelisk of fate
Awaits you now.

Pale blue violets shimmer
Among rag-tag fungal forests.
Branches tick-tock with
Burly blow of the sky;
Forgotten blossoms from
Your failed antiquity.
The summer that once was
Is hungry for more.

Discontinue your reticence,
Only you can consume your fate.
Green will gorge on you
Despite the bitter chill.

So go, go now and
Sit amongst the campfire.
Forage for the hum-drum you forsake,
**** your soul on a marshmallow pick,
Then eat it all before the night falls.

Derelict tulip tips lay idle on the mantle,
Dangling on the precipice
Of time and the void.
Missive yellow lollipops
Still tinker on tonsil
Like a child gone coy.

Maybe I'll engage myself in a chat with Freud,
Tell him I'm envious, remorseful,
And annoyed.
Golly gosh,
Your soul tastes cloy.

Or was that the marshmallow?

I loathe to appear boring
but I am.

Mesmerising reflections
Sordid depths pried
for a sliver of truth.
Geometric shells
Fenestrative awakening
enrapt you non-somnambulant.

Suddenly
I find attraction no longer active.
It must be an affirmation
I’m unsure of what
Perhaps never to know.

I'm a tool pondering skyscapes.
Fondling a memory
Left behind
On sunset marquees.
It raced into the horizon like
A toad on the road.
A neon dream waving farewell.

Exploring mindsets:
An act in caressing
Bloodbath tesseracts.
A roundhouse rollercoaster,
Spinning at velocity of perfume
Hitting nasal perforations.

Core memories surface along spine cutlets,
No longer intrinsic
Doubt.
I'm settling for more.
A bathed blue baby is a moment
Too long to endure.

Hindsight is
A parson's lake passage;
A mad monster yet to be tamed;
A grain of salt to a fresh wound made;
Moments of grace from a fake great ape.

Blue morons slide
Into Mormon jovial footsteps.
Derided ice forestry into
King's cloaked ancestry.
Which makes family the
Opposite of attraction.

And yet here I am
Talking to you,
Eyelight through obelisks
In hotbox barricades.
Hiding behind
A past of newspapers.
Headline reads 'ONLY DEVINE'
'TRADE REIGN WARNS JEWELS'
'PRINCE THREATENS ECONOMY
... AND CROWN.'

Wipe the frown,
Draw the sword.
Don't be ignored anymore.

The swallows they wreak havoc inside my half-egg nest.
Lest the owls talons save me now.

Come, owl,
Fly me into the technicolor sunset,
Let the swallows feast elsewhere.

It's here,
Across her gaze.
Under the flora,
The grey grim murk on the perch.
The swallow song no longer heard
Over rap-racket from the stereo,
Hardening ear lobes.

It's here,
In the shallow pits of the room,
Where one wallows in part-pity
And shameful surrender
To the mic’s mild embrace.

It's here,
Hiding in the hollow,
Glaring wistfully into nothingness,
Gliding in undulating vistas
Across light and dark
In the dark and light of head-space.

I hold the rim of the coffee cup,
Clasping tightly until it drops
On her clammy clad,
The iris eyes me dangerously.

My final resignation.

Now I am here.

Under the wooden beams,
My quivering fingers dancing on the keyboard,
Its soft grip fragile, compounded.
The sound resonating
Across the verge of the table,
Sinking slowly in a circuit,
Punching seamless letters on the screen.

The books speak to me
But I don't hear.
Its words oozing out the page,
Begging to be read

In horrid silence.

A silence so bitter and loud,
A choiring quiver of voices
Landing on each surface,
Bouncing off into the unknown, light abyss
Of the third floor.

The lights flicker,
The books remain printed.
An eyeful of piercing moments
Unhinge the flow.