In this house is a trousseau of deception
walking into Clarksdale
where we are perpendicular lines
of perception
at a crossroad of 61 & 49.


She pretends to be a guitar
played by his aching tooth
where she dressed all in scarlet
put candies in her cooch.

She is a ledge of peeks and coos
Pigeons of Pharmacia
scroll peoples lives from Venice beach
come to be souls just out of reach.

..and a voice shouts out from heaven
it's not to late to turn back
just a little faith my girl
is all that you really lack.

she wanted someone to save him
well, that's just not my job
those are words for redeemers
where I simply refuse to mob.

But I hope to see you there my friend
should you find yourself able
feast on the words of lambs
Eucharists at his table.

Come, we'll hold
his hand together
no longer singing
words of one,
run, scatter
hide
as innocent
babes
of Babylon.

I think I must be dead and my body moulders, rests
imperfectly in a carved wooden tomb. Secreted

beneath the malted mud, a restless corpse twitches,
mind set on deceiving; images of alien fingertips
skimming supple skin.

Truly, I have never been more content, as my pieces
decay and dismember and chest rises with bloated gas

breathing such sure imitation against
bleached white weaving whale bones as

the machinations, these movements of worms
whisper, vibrating your words within each unseeing ear,
surely, yes, no heart beats now to hear them.

You love me, say my worthy companions, and oh
do I love you too, most magnificent apparition, sweet
spectacular spectre, conception of minds greatest trick.

I must slumber eternal.
I must lie beneath shaded trees where the birdsong and
shafted sunlight and sweet taste of dewed grass lends

life to decimated, deceased thought of what was once
concious, forcing disbelieving perception, fabricating
a phantom, forging the incredible wonder of you.

I think I must be dead, for I think I drew you up
inside my head.

I am but willing prey to the wiles of the full grown moon.
She guards the night sky...
While I patrol these grounds...
Grieving over the seconds that have gone too soon.

I am a vessel... all emptied and barren.
what once was full,
now echoes faint
the glories of yesteryears.
Afloat still, adrift upon the currents... aimless and sullen.

I am a ghost... haunting no one but my own.
Immortalised...
Anchored...
to a body of mist and haze...
Occupying this space where worthy wind had once blown...

I am a beggar offering nothing but my open palms.
Hope etched tight
into my knackered knuckles
and calloused digits.
Please... take them in yours...
soothe them...
grant me your touch, your coveted balm.

When the mind is in conflict
Nothing pleases the heart
Every resonance creates disharmony
Echoed from the sharpest edges
The conflict is amplified in the soul
Not aligned with the universe
Conflict of the mind takes over

We never get to know
How big is the world we live in.

It´s all made of invisible ties,
We pertain to the roots of the past.

And if you look for all you´ve learned
You just see the tip of the iceberg.

If you asked me what love is
I couldn't´t grasp the feeling

Because it´s deeper than I know.
It´s like when you yell at dusk

And your voice echoes.
It never reaches the end.

And so the voice turns to you.

He stabbed me in the back
And **** ***** me.

A lover?
No. Love itself.


-- Eleanor