Three and four times
Delved down in the mind
Wether their dreams or another's
They did not know for sure

Somewhere in those depths
Of distant realities and mindless dreams
Lies the greatest truth of all
Which is what those beings sought

Once human but no longer
Did they search their dreams
And the dreams of sleeping gods
To secure that ancient knowledge

But the further their sorceries brought them
The madder they became
Until nigh all of them succumbed
To a dark sickness of the mind

Trapped within those lost and sable dreams
Do those inhumans yet remain
Having forgotten the very thing
Their broken minds searched for

Should you encounter one of them
Those ancient weavers of dreams
Be careful that you are not also dragged down
Into that madness along with them

they tell you to play the game
but you hate it

it’s breaking your spirit
and you want to get out
of your head
but at least there you feel like
no one can get you.

or well
that’s what you thought.
you thought that
if you stayed in your mind
you’d be fine
but it betrays you

intelligent
existential
no good
get OUT of my head

please just get out of my head

loneliness
used to taste like cough syrup,
coating my throat
in artifice.

now i'm just lovesick
dancing in a sea of lights
they kiss my skin like
tulips/two lips/i'd choose this/new bliss/
our mouths collide like planet & asteroid

blood's rushing through my veins
trying to tell me to sing hallelujah
because i'm finally
just
living

and although
the pain is there
it is fading out of touch

i don't know where to stop
but i'll always
start
with this

Shiny bricks and skeins of yellow grass
Barely perceptible colours
Hung with liquid haze
Dog **** and thunder
Heavy close and thick
Miasma
Clings to sweat
Running with drizzle
Clings to damp
Drowning the pores of the skin
Making collars clinging sticky
Rubbing and abrasive

In view of the towering flats
The greyly awaiting wait
Standing at the bus stop
Speaking quiet weather talk
In the distantly English way
So safely meaningless
This polite evasion
Ignores their damp dilemma
Soon, as they sit inside the bus
These bodies shall steam
Like cattle in a byre

Kids hang around the shops
Emptying and kicking cans
The younger ones
Run and shout manically
Their elders spit
And swear casually
All hoods and shadows
Asking adults to buy them lager
Because they can't get served at the "offie"
Rain changes nothing here

A bedroom guitar plays
Weakly electric
And the Turneresque sky
Swallows the sound whole and flat
Sophisticated trash
Crying into a cloudy breast
Shaded darkly round
Full and swollen
Grey and sodden
The distant rumbling
Tumbling closer to home

                                    By Phil Roberts