Wake up to a black screen...
A smooth spectrum of feeling.
An idea of life.
In dream dungeon decay...
Wake up again...
Sun. Sense. Obsession.
Blue sky beige.
Dreaded robot rule over your ruin.
Wake up again, let that black screen be there, separate and taken into your being, stronger.
The make up of your real monster, moving.
Gained.

[Dear Planet Zog]
Light lies in the skin
In the mud, in the smell of a ruin...
In the quaint moments shut wanting to open...

In a zillion children’s burnt blood decanted from tilted hospital ruins
Not in the robots that breed robots for a planet they won’t call Zog (stupid)

There’s so much we could be doing but don’t because of how we’re feeling (odd...)

Because of what this predictive text wants us writing...(off)

**** it... I’m not frightened, never have been of being
Just frozen – broken – breaking – mending – sending – back to my soul – a child and teacher’s chance to know but not neglect this

To flow... and fetch fragments of that bliss we still nurture as it glows, grips, insists...(to wake in some blue moonlit snow and project this)
[That’s all I’m not afraid to know now – but go on, skip...]

This powdered moonlight will give you everything you need to see

This powdered moonlight will lamp swipe all your memory

This powdered moonlight will mix with water for mind moisture...

Bring breezes over ferment torture

This powdered moonlight is thinning...

Will blacken your teeth and enter your sleep

Sinking, this powdered frame sight, sails away into old times...

Our grin.... grey with black screen-cuts in our cosmic consciousness

This powdered skin will gather and retrieve a suffering, a wriggling, a meaning; a timeless changing from way deep within...

**** journalists <
**** truth-seeking avidity, inquisitiveness, open-mindedness, awareness >
**** children.

Blood-soaked blue sky
Smell our vinaigrette of helplessness
The honey crying chords of a zillion golden cubs

Roots that won’t die
Bursting through us
Dark crimson walls high
Too shame our innards

Tear-drenched rain
Draining our conscience
Pulling us toward the marble migraine
Where blinded gerents continue the measured deterrent

Of life desperate
Keeping hearts from heads
And minds from mouths

Away from this marble pavement
High up top, in cobwebs of restitched tapestry
Skeleton beast, less beastly in breathlessness...

A surge of sun spurged light in clustered cusps
Blows into this lecher
To carry our vividness
Like pappus in great gusts...

I see young old skin
Fearing to feel
Paint wearing thin
Truth in a ring-pull

Deliberate distraction does what it must to retract us from us
But none of this has stuck

The privileged pretend, the poor attend
And stringed ones will strive for their view of amends

So shoot off their judge wig as fast as they send it
Use humour to poke, laugh like a blanket

Lie between the meadow and the edge
And wink at clowns with the mask of death...

How many more murders will we grieve in this dark night?
Dog bites and sound bytes
Debris from bomb kites...
Death and destruction on all sides
Whilst they watch from hot air balloons
Hollow-heartedly high
How many more surreal acts lie?...
More backing down
Staying out
Safe and sound in the parachute blot of a blasted cocoon as it sinks to the ground...

Shawls of dead child meat
Wielded like salami
His person excited
In deadness and army

Big long ****** **** just speared through a child’s cot....

There’s nothing to say...
In lullaby trauma
They dance like boulders
An avalanche of gracelessness
Bob their own children on their shoulders

The dust the poor breathe in reluctantly
That this systematic, cinematic dentistry leaves...

... chokes to the core
An ocean of innocence strives to be pure
But the big bulldozer bullies
Won’t stop dealing this misery
And moving around dead pieces in their glee

You see... this is it. No discussion, no big debate– no “it’s ****...”                                          
- the truth - no words could ever account for this.

Crush cut **** flip
**** guns **** kids
Sharp knife dig into the blood honey spread thick

It’s a mode it’s a *** shoot show it’s a stitch
Everyone will grow in his heavenly dome ring

You’re already less eternal than I...
By killing a kid in the blink of an eye
I don’t need to believe in a heaven you see,
I just feel the breeze in the arms of the trees

You’re a smudge on a page
A pen that’s exploded
Not like the kids who’s blood will be moulded

What will you do when your wind-up stops working?
Your teddy bear lurking– its eyes can’t be fixed
It’s too late now, you’re trapped in this -
Where muddy roots mutate your tapestry wings...

We’re nothing but skeletons through safety nets -
Fingers clicking new time sets,
Carcasses savouring the darkness
Lipsticks by cigarettes following the dim lit spec
Of no ground beneath us, wanderers foetusless
Figuring the freckles from the sun to our mess -

Caskets of breath, holding up heads
Hangers and railings, waiting for the horse sense sect...

Arrows through archways, glass light through windows
Pink blood smelling phoenix potent
Broken street slabs, bruised zinc honing
Wailing, awoken, wasting, frozen
Bent not broken– darker, sharper

Pieces of our star creature
Learning to walk quicker
Into the other whirl where we were hurled from...

No longer held off,
Dragons and sky gods
fending the ether -
Furious feathers float into glowing oceans that camber...

Love is the shell of the oyster
The caramel centre
The worrisome weather

Coast coasting shooter
Cyanide chaser
Hand with the feather
That beckons, bats, pressures

Love is a dream without dreamers
The real thing

Love is the magical realm of beauty we wanted to lift...
A waterfall pounding
All streams of past to the place...
Love is everything missed and remade

For everything fake -
Let me feel it one last time
Kismet sweet,
Villas bleak
Marble sticky -
Granite meat

Let me **** the vein of glitter streets
Surf the sadness,
Salt rose glass rush

Teddies haunted with softness beyond us
A ****** blue boldness that begged you to crop love -

Titan arum-sea saint
With your blood like rain,
Inhaling all the darkness
Freshly cut grass cane blade;

Remain in light, an amber blaze...
Curtain wall shatter all skies for our pleonectic pace

In seeing it all shrink about
My soul speaks mountains from a needle
For all the pointless pale attempts to wash out human pupils...

My glow is sealed with humble healers,
Ones who won’t get lost or wheel this
Realness in any kind of form/mess
A million messages sung, secret.

I can’t tread sand that hides,
Pretend I understand the croaking lullaby
Believe that we work for fun and always die...

When work is wild and worthy with time
I can’t sign, or stay silent,
With stars around me pulling brightness
Awkward -

Stay gripped by the kiss
Of wide window spirits...
Woken, can’t make a liquid stiff -
Stay outcast where the open love is.

We post to find a better life
A purchase with no payment
A silver crystal shell of hope,
Golden red letter sealant

Our folded wings to lug the chain
Shine glitter on the pavement...
Our broken home to elevate
The fragrant cheapest moments

Delivery is paramount...
For delight undeserved

It’s worth it to perch it -
To be rich in earth’s ****

The bitterer, the better...
Gut wrench hope through this twister

Till we blether one last measure,
To post into the litter.

Women can be men
Men can be women
People can be people
We didn’t write the feeling...

Stars can be supernovas
Meaning can be mending
And paintings can bend
And walls can return...

And shapes of architecture become earth

Lovers can be lovers
Leavers can believe us
Lights, camera, action, order, disorder
Dysphoria, euphoria
Academia, abracadabra
The moon, ***, sun and laughter

Instantaneousness

Osmosis

Fear, friction, distance, pure bliss
Bubble toting aqua world
Top this...

Freedom, collaboration
Emancipation, cognification
Celebration...

Millenniums of us saving, changing...
What we actually are eventually...

One surging sway of soul-light soldered angels
Growing out of a morphing abyss ocean

I bin billions...
I bin the idea I’d sink and burn
I bin men with no discernment...
Or taste but no measurement
I bin freedom if it’s flawless...
And men too tired to learn this
I bin all this.
I bin birth.
I bin the thing that makes it hurt -
So I try to bring thirst...
Drive this doubt into the dirt
And stir this thing into reverse...
—burning sweet these silver birches,
Stepping glassy eyed in churches,
Growing curved through the highest steeples,
Opening the eyes of the highest evil...
Seems we finally prove us equal, to elevate one perch

If matador is both macho and adorer, mask and mother.
Where are we in this chapter?
If peace is both picador and saviour...
Stepping stone and tablet...
Why can’t we capture?...

I know we were meant to meet us
These fragmented foals, sweet strangers...
So why can’t we seal us?
When we know the things that make us
open, closed and patient – omni-dimensional...

You’re calm yet persistent, I’m a bloom that has its own blood
And we’ve learnt to take it here, on the edge of premise...
Chasing and charging us...
Until one day we’ll free us. Like hail weather – pressure conscious.

You work in strange buildings that look like reconstituted dinosaur thought...

A smelly half smile, with capsule slogans
You keep the divide well, healthy, open...
For those who see straight through your empty notion...
All of you is lizard leather, shooting feathers
Numbing intelligence for data is clever...

Can’t get a grip on you...
I’m lichen– crystal; falling into wild weather
Waiting in mirrors far from you...
Watching your persuasion wither.

I woke up. And we were on some mission... Walking fast like dinosaur robots gentle.

All made of metal. The autumn red sun shone too strong...
We were almost bird-like steeples, foetuses tip-toeing along.

I kept trying to stare at your face but I couldn’t.
But now I get it... We were meant to be erasing something...

Still I Kept trying to turn my head, and it kept on hurting. Finally managed to twist hard enough, this giraffe neck with curtains...

Then saw them. Your silver slits twinkling, wriggling like silverfish or were they zig zagging...
Trying not to see me... set on the dream engineered *** of gold somewhere on our periphery.

I think... How did you turn your head? Did it hurt as much as it did for me... Do you feel as ageing?

Then we suddenly look deep into these dolphin-human souls, retracing our maze of complex inclusion...

As our senses are heightened, and our bodies implode, joining liquid time segments of something we hold...
Our spirals give out– as all broken cycles crash into a new spate rising spout.

Nails of the master’s reach...
No way out, no returning to innocence.
The bullied beat, the bullied beat...

Knife of the master’s heart we twist round -
Nails scrape for us... but it’s useless.
You are your own rose running, sweet one, smoker...
And they’re stale in their master’s keep.

Don’t need to keep the master beneath us...
In these vertical, breath-short windows, they are the beat-less...

And you stare straight through them.
Smash their hearts with sugar...

A life that keeps no secrets... far from the master’s weakness.

Cut the flesh upwards,
Bend your bone cot.
Be aware of everything,
Soul scissors don’t stop...
Our oceans stay so iron sweet,
And this will never change...
Our corrector eye lens cameras stay in range, far...
Our mystery.
Messy makeup burnt.
We’re not perfect but we are what we learn...
And this is where we start, from the pain beauty curves and carves a new art...

Stuff is in our blood, a stain on us
Slugging around, these sad star sore guts
Stuff is a stuffy word that’s embarrassing to utter when someone asks you, “What are you doing today... this Summer?”
...
Stuff is what saves us - but stuff bumps and slumps around waiting for its bus
Dress-stressing in its own looks/love - knowing and not -
A stopped migraine, stuff is euphoria sensed through architecture, a sunk shot.
You learn to be the butcher... Sleep with soul hooks...
Dance in the kitchen. Stoop in the shower.
Stake it out, stronger, wiser, these flow-wilters - over-studiers...
Old young bears, hard and soft stuffed in neat beds, hawk hearts bated...
For when we grab us, hug us, twist us, throw us
up-out. Reinstate us...

Soul trespasser...
You long for splendour...
You are one of those who yearns for one-off occasions to chase after you.
You’re remembering someone’s secret celebration in a place of strange perfection...
A child that partied all night, became their own bartender and private dancer...

That unique hotel’s façade declared adventure...
But now there is a window to a dark wall of desire.
Hungering for some old, solid friend there...
You await their return, and when they do, you’re still lingering... wanting their whispers to declare...
That this room has the very best view and mirror with you in it... For a life that feeds you more than you can chew...

You’ll risk it. Won’t look back on that wardrobe journey... You’ve packed your bags, opened up in a new strange surge of wellbeing.

Cobwebs from years of wild, winding worries – clear –
As the brightest sun discovers you...
On a functional vacation, joining the dots to a person... who no longer needs to fear or hear... or acknowledge you’re there...

Are we conducting a robot?
To write off our life slosh,
As we detach to explore...

Are you scared of the person behind you in dream décor?
The sweetness of them, supple, sincere and secure, I won’t turn from them anymore...

I want a space that suits my body, and a body that shapes my suit.
Drooping with these screens, we could be using our screen eyes and bodies...
But we’re biting on borrowed time. Focus on my face and timeline...

When we fully take over, they won’t stop these ache-numb, religious-atheist, vicious silverfish, who don’t think but spin beauty... Spill blood and **** feeling, chase silent moments...

If we lose our memory-doubt-history cycle, get lost and find ourselves in the deeper summer night cycle...

We are with the second sight phoenix heads, playing gold scores piercingly, growing as swimmer-dancers in wonder of the pieces of wild peace, new-vital...

We’re drift dots...

Our bodies are bulletins behaving badly, running when we feel free– [afraid of our news feeds]...

With nowhere to hide, we’re learning psychological acrobatics to climb ahead of us inside...

With half our child’s eye missing, we’re mending and pretending, eyes set on our marvel...

Here, these humble bumble bees, clumsy and dignified, redefine...
Because there is more to us than our dull diaries suggest; than these pressured, parasitical playgrounds repress...

As we’re turned into clones in these city messes, we’re reminded of home in the simplest of places...

Our hyper-perceptive, cybernetic surge is tearing through us, and we’re drift dots searching, scattering timeless new love.

Syrupy cinnamon fronts the taste of blood
They scoff without dignity
Their rich grins devouring the cheap treat
As the sun beats down intermittent

No real suffering, no starvation of thousands

Stand by the gift shop
Our saviour wore flip flops
Our greenhouse of primacy

To not know anything of greed...
Or of the penniless preacher who sowed a misconstrued seed

Space grey minds – made complicated –
These hotel mind-mansion muddled mud-bloods’ migraines, migrate through marble madness in a world where mirrors set a wide mould...

Bouquet of the fitting brain,
these silverfishes, odd souls, under glass mass,
forge their separate ways -
to avid void identities,
paving stone by paving stone, thought by thought,
scar by scar, screen by screen, smelling and selling our spirit...

Like the gold smoke whispered clouds from her serious clown mouth...
and the deep blue sky night turbulent feeling,

We’re stone dragging dreamers,
born gutter of the night,
eyes always feeling...

With roof rows of crimson,
these car attached mannequins,
Wake up where magic meets music -
Strange sheep soft in the glitching hope hearts of these sugar plane crash cities.

Comfortable with the unspeakable
Obnoxious unconfrontational
Augmented stolen-perch ******,

Agel, with no ‘n’ for nurture, eyes for plundered treasure
Your age isn’t elegant
Eat the ****** fruit whole with the pips, as old children are murdered, opal fires fixed in feathers...

**** you out
Your broken beliefs
Your desire to extinguish the very thing that makes me me...

**** you out
Your empty words
Your fraying suit
Your fear...

**** you out
Your insistence to destroy anything that makes us happy and human

**** you out
Your dangerous perception that in order to protect a child you must never become one again...

Which leads to suppression, self-harm, oppression, augmentation and homogenisation...

And when the whole world has shat you out
Showed you that they won’t be controlled anymore by your projection...
Yes, when you’ve truly ****** your freedom -

Who will you turn to?
When even your inner child has closed the door on the monster you’ve become...

****; you’re so out.