“delusions of grandeur”

the boy
in the silk suit
black slick skin
a penguin's belt

he is nameless
or unrecognised
or in one universe
he is both
he is neither

the sun
is cut into shards
they spike
a slit throats
but we love the sun
even if it is cancerous

do not blame the sun
it doesn't mean to
we need the sun
it is up to you to protect yourself

the boy
buttoned up
to the neck
past the shoulders
down into the ground
up to the ceiling

he is more buttons than boy

he stands right
dead centre
in the circle of
sunlight
as if he were a deity

the boy feels
the air in
tight cuffs
around his wrists

he is free now

When the nip
of the curled lip
reaches the rallying
surface of paper,

there must be substance

One cannot decree over nothing
sounds may not exhaust
and sacrifice their whims
for the hopes of a deserted rebellion,

there must be truth

You forget
so often your mind mutes
it coils into the half alive
semi state
of being

You forget
that this land we walk
is already compact
and finished

We live in the future

there are no new buildings
all we stand upon
is the bones of old
and the uncorporeal
ghosts
of pioneers ideas

there is no new
nor is there new hardship
every pain in your blood
has been endured three fold
by those living

or not living

But yet we party

our hearts wild beastlies
our ears cocked and pelt upon ends
the swirling swells of music and chant
this ancient illustrious dance...

do not let yourself be bewitched by the past
for one day we will be it.

beauty,
it may seem an unworthy word,
aesthetically purposeless,
only for romantics,
only for the guileless,
the naive,
but one forgets,
that to see is to appreciate beauty,
and only the blind,
let their rose red lens,
fade to black.

impose,
& lose composure.
expose,
& forever foreclose.
repose,
& lose purpose.

Remember my darling,
imp,
there is no,
ex,
who can ever
re,
flect your true soul,
only jealous beggars
& bitter ghouls.

Mercy my mercurial madman,
thou t'will tame the timid treachery,
or one often offends others,
when we wilt wooden wisterias,
and assault an aviary's attachments,
don't dare die,
for friends from forever,
will,
never,
forget.

One wise merchant:
once tried to sell you a concept.

There you were,
lounging on the street,
like any half decent loiterer,
when this haphazardly placed shawl,
bumped you to a wall.

Tattoos fluttered along their brow,
their mouth shimmied from one thought to the next,
and this,
gypsy of a fool,
was trying to sell
the thought
that you would die.

Knife to throat,
fist to rib,
eye to eye,
it was a convincing proposition,

but ultimately,
only a salesman's pitch.