life lies on me like a coffin lid

the investment of a strange ventriloquism

where no one has imagined me

or the existence of my

verbalizing impulses of emotion

the structured knowledge of

chemistry and music

I shall go beyond

beyond the humming bird

beyond the giant stars

way, way past the darkness

in the valley

where the gentle tempest rests

and there I shall enter into visions

and claim a desolate sun

who possesses enormous

silhouetted slices of hell

i shall go far beyond the speaking rain

beyond the whispers that have taken up

residence in my mind

way, way past the living and the dead

where ancient texts have wept

i shall stumble far across the horizon

beyond the jagged edges of the world

far, far beyond all known compass

where cartographies of silence

roam

here i shall be made a suggestive space

a womb with a heartbeat

here, far beyond all that is

in a dark place of peace

once I saw a blue moon
shedding the underworld
of thought and time
it wallowed in a pink sea
where out of the depths
sea blossoms came
to be beyond the rain
to be beyond the rain
and a litle bird found
a pool of dreams
the birthing pool
then she was gone
flying under a soft black sky
growing hope after
beyond the rain
beyond the rain
whose creations and distractions
are the prossessses
that are necessary to show
the true feelings
hidden beneath the surface of things
beyond the rain
beyond the rain
where there is a combat
a struggle between darkness and light
the emotional duality of life
BETWEEN THAT WHICH IS
AND THAT WHICH HAS ALREADY BEEN
beyond the rain
beyond the rain

bleeding comments on a scribble pad
interactions regulating a previous history
in words of spontaneous repeats
projecting the colour of dreams
in a world of violet sky
that has dispensed with night and day
in elliptical words that dilate
to a lacerating urgency
where apocalyptic statements
unleash in silent appraisal
a symbiosis of male and female
the creation of a new species
survivors of anaemic journeys
where one does not need to search
for identity in the other
but experiences that freedom
from the strain of isolation
and pieces together the fragments of
a once thought insoluble puzzle
that is disturbed in hidden speech
in bleeding comments on
an unruled scribble pad

there is a numbed feeling
one of exclusivity
that suggests
a solitary reconnaissance
one of orientated purposes
where moods are reflectively animated
in individual focus
in order to infiltrate
a non sharing experience
but the feeling abruptly stops
it is a synchronized wound
it is the assassination
of the distant and complex
terminals of the human mind
i am irretrievably shocked
poeple live
but there are really no survivors

It is a replicable dialectic

that swirls in my mind

like a spiral of cigarette smoke

covering fluctuations

of diffused expanses

of transferable hallucinated images

relying on an artificial artificiality

to generate a reality

one that amplifies a calisthenics

of maximized reduction

in the blank vacuum of space

allows those sophistication’s

where there is a scrutiny

of exclusions

that may perhaps betray

the concepts of others

those correlatives

of our own creative interirority

where a mind may repeal a transgression

for it is breakfast in the time

of the Wizard Pig

Smiling eyes

In sensuous touch

Of naked sound

Taste mysterious pulses

Imprisoned yet unbound

Spangled light reflected

Colors that pierce the ground

While echoes of

Forgotten brush strokes flutter

Like a thousand birds all around

One moment, this moment

This scene, Oh! this freedom

Holding in the artists tender touch

The promise of a lifetime

it migrates into purgatory fashions

and plays like a quiver on the nerves

oh so rich art thou in artifice

that would have me believe

in a cold and unattributed consciousness

like an infestation of infant prodigies  

for it is a vicariousness of viciousness

that leaves the music of C Major

devoid of untold homage

and a singular letter on a scale

is it a transmusicality of mutation

punctuated by red felt tip notes

for all music is life

the life of C Major in the time

of vicious vicariousness

Words, words, words

To numerous

That would stain

Upon a drop

The entire floor

Would tarnish

By some vague disgust

A wilderness of turquoise

Yet live an impulse of

Impatient obligation

To decisive differences

The color of  lost time

The color of white on  an horizon

The color of midnight in the garden of words

The color of sound pealing in a vast sea of bluebells

The color of thought indentured to compelling

Imunities that complain of authenticities so intence

There are cloistered calls for an incantatory language

of soft colored vowels a,e,i,o,u

In an enigmatic language of legitimacy

That wrests the color of colors from themselves

And provides a history of the world in 13 tweets

My shadow says his heart sounds different
Words to assuage whatever pain this causes evade me
However I am somewhat loathe to enter
Into a Socratic dialogue with my shadow
Only to be aware if imperceptibly
That his knowledge of such far outweighs mine in the balance
So I say nothing change the subject
My shadow raises a question
Interrogating me on my pursuance of its form
It probes me as to why a fifteen-year-old boy peruses him
Forever questioning about his purpose and mine
These questions I cannot answer, now look bewildered
Blushing even in the presence of my shadow
But he smiles for he knows my thoughts and my actions
After all he is me
But I know his contagious affirmation of myself
Feel his warm glow his imperious perfection
His desire the need to accommodate his want
I reduce myself to his wondrous allure
Feel the ripples of a soft capricious breeze enticing me
I succumb gladly to its seductive enchantments it seduces me
I allow it to overcome my being
Then as so many times before we become one

In my schoolboy bedroom it is a completely different world
Brings me in confluence with my shadow
The meeting of two merging anticipated tributaries
Like cold blue morning and dark sprinkled night
Where my mirror has become the ritualised
Expression of my isolation of my individual consciousness
Fused as one at the edge, where all else becomes blurred
An abstraction, indefinably lost like the mixing of shadows
That cannot be deduced on any mental map
I hear my shadow beckoning me
In its uncoordinated marginality
In isolation I receive his thoughts, his considered reflections
Something has now united us through joint experience a totality
An idea a notion conceived, to abrogate the restraint on liberty
An erosion of all guilt, advancement to a notion
Of profound imagination, where invariably
Our congress will be complete there can be no latitude for digression.

a flashing neon cocktail of colour
shines a peculiar light
like a fossil washed in my jeans
it allows me to speak to Panzas donkey
in a place where black winged angels wait
providing a backdrop to unconscious geography
that can never be reclaimed
movements are that of a stage contortionist
slow and deliberate
they recollect colliding tangents
that preclude all manner of inquiry
there is an articulated confrontation
that corresponds to a drawn curtain
an ash grey partition
painted with a particularised creation
projecting in a self generated universe
an estrangement to the world of aligning
past and present
A windmill tilts and magnifies
the sense of isolation generated
by my conversation with Panzas donkey
in a realisation of the unquantifiable location
of the non-geometric dimensions of Quixotic thought
yet allows for an initiation of sensory experience
as a world that exists independently of
physical space is explored
and I realise the expansion of consciousness
is the emitted light of relative thought
that flashes in colour before me
it is my dreams, they are violet
like the sky

I am aware of nothing

That has brought me here

A boy, on the threshold

Of being

At the front door of a Dantian pit

I am on the inside of night

Where a racing heartbeat

Measures time by its frantic beat

A mirror appears

Providing a compulsion to stare

I gaze and realise

The impersonation is the real being

And I am the occupant of a mask

A cosmic persona

Of the true nature of identity

The same strangers in all respects

Twins of a harlequined society

I watch, wait for him

Now he is here, floats on my breath

Confiscates my words, holds them

Like a whisper in a rats mouth

His imperishable body is kept on recall

And leaks through me

I see a projection of him, disconnected

A cinematograph, a vision

A vision that will not dematerialise

Yet allows my words to escape

And slink out of drains at noon

Hissing like static interference

As they slither across the page

They allow me to catch the curve of a rainbow

Catch it in my mouth

Denying all realities but my imagination

The words dart along my tongue

Like the shiver of wind across a pond

They form a recreation of heightened moments

Of my consciousness, the weightlessness of inner thought

and the page and I become one, I write

there is a darkness
that the silver song
of soft illusion lights
in symbolic equivalents
of images real
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
the breakage
at the jagged edges of the world
and lays hostage to impersonation
that resembles fragments
of smashed oval shaped mirrors
reflecting pieces of broken
brown terracotta soldiers
and causes the eyes to hurt
with a watched inner holocaust
of disturbing coloured detonations,
implosively autonomous
given to a deceived departure
a departure from reality
given by the advocacy
of ideological rationalism  
that sees three kings
with blood on their crowns
in amplified convulsions
call mustre for
disturbance, disorder, destruction
and death
as blood stains the Balkan streets
and all emotional impulse
is volatilized
and a sinister, stuporous, stagnancy
stalks the land
where sustaining minds
are subject to a brutal insensitivity
that dazzles on the edge of a spiral vertigo
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
a vocabulary of incoherence
like the rancid stains of *****
that inhabit the jagged edges of the world

I walk through an anemic street

Its galvanized paleness generating a ****** fever

Menstrual blood smears the walls the alleys

There is an expectancy of life and death

As a single occurrence

An experience of inseparability

It is a primitive animistic street

That propels dark gods to ****** frenzy

Who generate molten red drifts

Along the steerage of its passage

It is a street that has anticipated its journeys

Of a concentrated and indelible red

Of loud and terrible silence

That knots around white waists

Speaking in frantic crimson

It is a street of cycles

How dark

My memories

Of The Moon

The ink thoughts

Of Oriental scribes

I missed your drawings

Magic charcoal of beauty

Sense of line and charismatic charm

Perfection of form with tenebrous light

Like segregated sunshine, a codex in Black

amid pentagrams

satelliting my mind

an outward location

of an ostentation

that lids a voyeuristic eye

to Da Vinci’ fingers in a jar

waiting anxiously for them

to move, perform an ******

panache of evocative art

but they are congealed

in a stalactite shiver

that lacks transmitted urgency

but contact with these

enigmatic digits causes

a correspondingly delayed

then urgently convulsive frenzy

that somewhere in time

bring frictional contact

with a canvas or a ceiling

Da Vinci’ fingers in a jar

an outward location

of unclasped curiosity

Dawn is a remembrance of night

That fades in the pretend modesty of piety

Punctured by treacherous daylight

Haunted by the gray spectre of complicity.

i have given hearing
to deaf ferocious monsters
with well meaning incompetence
i have disturbed the reality
and illusion of human identity
where i am enmeshed
in insoluble confusions of difficulties
where i find strange images
touching on the grotesque
and ask what is myself
what are the guarantees
of my identity
by what right is a name possessed
by what means is my individuality secured
these questions in my mind
have a curiously derivative quality
that pretend to govern themselves
where they collaborate in their own oppression
and make assumptions upon
ethical behaviour and social institutions
which represent fictions rather than fact
function in a world of collapsing distinctions
of artificial precepts
where these now hearing monsters
with vicious energies of hate and ambition
that propel the enactment of intense
exhausting experience of  a mind
spiraling vertiginously
toward an inner chaos that proclaims
I am myself alone without moral constraints
yet register vast predicaments
with the memorability of vivid language
but with an individual rapaciousness
that creates an amalgam of narratives
with the oppressive weight of the past
designed to induce this evaluative vertigo
with such ferocity to produce a turmoil of demons
monsters of evil, whose viciousness is vividly stamped
upon their bodies that declares
their fathomless malice sending my mind
into a cruelly disassembling nature
where i have given hearing
to deaf ferocious monsters

Dear diary
What could it be
That Haunts and distracts me

Dear diary
What's wrong with me
What could it be

I am frightened

Don't you see
Should I fall
Swiftly on my sword?

Colors bleed seeping into a mist that seems to be approaching
There is a feeling that is capacious and transporting
I have no sense of loss. I miss no-one, not even myself
Because for some unknown reason I cannot remember who I am.

Colors bleed seeping into a mist that seems to be approaching
There is a feeling that is capacious and transporting
I have no sense of loss. I miss no-one, not even myself
Because for some unknown reason I cannot remember who I am.

shall i bring death to life

and in doing so **** it

for what is death if it be life

or life if it be death

for reasoning’s in my mind

have chosen thus that both

once closed to each can be reconciled

by the life of death,

by affirmative lyrical flights

that issue forth that desperate need

that desperate need to know

to shape such understanding

into coherent form

to endure the vicious energies

that cause such enactment

an intense and exhausting experience

that such presentations and transformations

of permissible or possible effect do yield

to love and to be the companion of death

into its halls and become

one with the universal consolation

of solitary echoes

Between walls in slattered light
The moment of him
Makes me moan
Slices of meat in cotton sheets
Our teenage need is eaten

Serenade of time / unravelling
That which we don’t possess /
Steers a passage
Through adolescent grief /
I travel his unshaven smile
Contours of desire lead me here /

I stay in his delicious deceit /

Strange ineluctable rhythms have gradually and patiently entered my thoughts
Like a gradual orchestral cadence of soft melody subtly wisping around my whole being
They scamper in my blood become inseparable and live in me
Flocks of hallucinated concepts
I become possessed of ever changing moods
The catatonic calm
The delirious frenzy
The ungovernable mania
My pleas, my questions, are ignored
I live
In wondrous chaos
In disturbed turbulence
In manic colors
In the the Darwinianism of shapes
I experience a feeling of high elation
A complicity in my adopted position
Intoxicated by the prospect of my duality.

There is a madness about me

With ungovernable impluses

That borrow my tormented mind

It is aflame a conflagration

Burning more intensely than the sun

Consumed by unlimited time and space

An imposed barrier of perception vanishes

Gives way, gives way, my god gives way

To the cause of violating the imagination

One that does not recede but flows, flows

more powerful due to such defiable infringement

Flames of excitement entice me toward

A trajectory that swings out over the void

My god I see him, see him, see him

Sitting smiling, smoking a pipe

Jean-Nicolas-Arthur Rimbaud

Vanish, vanish, now all is gone, disappeared

Perhaps later, yes later, perhaps

A blue sun beats down from
An electrically charged sky
I step into chaos an exodus
Towards the wastelands of

Fragmentation and depletion where
Fictions are invented daily and all
Images change where the shadows
Of life disappear in desperation

Where blood drips from eyes
Into a cataclysm that waits
Strung out in the black void

Clock hands attach themselves
To my mind piercing sentiments
Of shame

They elucidate the journey from
The external world seeking sanctuary
For visions that have been thrown
Dashed against bare brick walls

The ultimate realisation of imaginative
Truth shatters in torment falling sprinkling
To a festering ground proclaiming the
Dominance of emptiness

The conscious ambiguity of betrayal
That deforms corroboration creating
Untruth/ the derangement of qualification
A dialogue with the unknown gives

Birth to fictional facts of unsuitable
Confrontations of displacement
Back to imaginative reality that
Feasts on the trivial the banal
The ordinary and the mundane normal

I take steps into the space others
Fear to occupy become inside
The incantation of a new dimension

An actuality they brand as madness
Yet I am ecstatic in its awareness
This shall be my retribution
For who shall be judged

Ha, illumination is timeless
Has no master they can only
Speculate about the unknown
Its infinity

It is all the imaginations I possess
That shaky bridge between worlds
Where I take my heels my mind
Cannot be redistributed

I have lived through a disturbing night
Now move into an equally disturbing day
It is here I know I will die

What little sunshine being recognised

Out of a storm flames approaching disorder

Building vast contradictions without impediment

Widespread in antiquity with alluring interpretations

Constituting mutilated transformations whose opposing

Lies stinking and fly swarmed, rotting at our feet

At fifteen I feel barricades

Under my feet

Erected in some

Despicable deceit



Yet I trod them down

And know my own defeat

Like those who wander

In their own conceit

What is it, Oh what is it that plagues my mind

Which rests its design in black melancholy

And perpetual lament

Producing desperate and unreasonable frustrations

And condemnations of grotesque obligations

Investing a relentless barbarism of lamentation

In that moment of the infinite pulse of inaccuracies

That raises from the grave of oblivion illicit ambitions

And by their presence embalms me with an ambiguous curse

That compels no rivalry or universal justification

A morbid bridge

Upon me draws

A blackness

Which lays waste

The perfect

Heavenly Harmony

Of Those Spheres

That are now

Made inaudible

By the corruption

Of this life

………..emotional cataclysms of creative energies occur volatilized by their liberation displaying inherent aesthetic propensities of a great mysticism…..this is a very strange night….I believe Dionysus is afoot……………..

what is this discovery of a cheap corpse
whose tightened jar contains imprisoned sunlight
whose hallow sheet now beckons
whose tracked eyes through my fingers weaves
and makes unjust shadows linger on the mind
and whose cause is that of trickles
that would gauge the cheeks
in unwarranted departure from clenched
and sorrowful eyes
what is its language, how does one speak it
this discovery that melts with a black proclamation
of lost intention that no longer lingers on its breath
but departs not in sorrow but in a chaos
and leaves unanswered its own existence

how different
the temper of the true
whose anger
can make the worst
the better cause
and give
delightful form
to fiction
as that of fact
where their
frequentation
becomes the inequality
of imagination
a delicate
truth telling lie

Silvine Blockster

had a book

which it seems

everywhere he took

and thus as is

always the case

as when such books

are ferried in open space

it was not unusual

for folk to ask

if they could look

inside Silvines Blokcsters book

But upon not such uncivil pleas

he would become incenced

and wobble most peculiarly

at the knees

rant and even rave

shout and squeal

but he never would reveal

the pages of the books appeal

so once upon a dark and dreary night

when Mr Poe was real and truly out of sight

some citizens upon themselves they took

a vow to knock Silvine Blockster on the head

and steal his precious book

but alas dear reader

the blow they cast

caused poor Silvine Blockster

to breath his last

all fled in panic but one

who stayed fast

and stood there to the very last

he took a furtive look

inside the book

his knees buckled

his face turned white

and from head to toe

was filled with fright

but the book

he could not let go

this brought a smile to Mr Poe

who was not there

as well you know

now Mr Rephil Pad had a book

which it seems

everywhere he took

and when citizens

begged to take a look

his face whould turn green

and he would puke

and dear reader

please beware

for I do not mean to scare

if you encounter

Mr Rephil Pad

under no circumstnce

ask to look

inside his book

or enter into confederation

with those, who for just one peek

would crack his skull

and watch blood leak

for upon this crinkled parchement

fited and forgotten ink

tells of a curse

of which you must not think

a death note

you must not read

on this very subject

Mr Poe and I and of course the Raven

on this subject are all agreed

A sleep so sound

As to only wake

The dreams of others

Where armstice

Is given to thought

That wanders beyond

The jeweled dawn

In a defection of insensitivity

A quality of oppression

To look on beauty

And wear its lightness

In generosity, a generosity

Of mutual attraction

That bargains not for purse

But wealth much more sought

To sleep a million dreams

To bask in a different version

Of that which is the same

To have that embrace

Or metaphor entwined within

Yes and awaken with a smile

A smile, a smile, just a smile

The lament of maremaids seldom heard

No more need to listen or to call

This is it

Living like a stone in a locked room

sitting in a bar unawares

sobriety is relinquished

incoherence

voicing hallucinated delirium

sweating profusely in distress

disconnected

without identity, without form

a long and terrible descent

into the effects of derealization

staring at nothing

listening to imaginary sounds

that cling to the dark draperies

that hang upon the walls of the mind

charting the outer geography of life

with invested inner humanity

There is a feeling that is capacious and transporting
I have no sense of loss I miss no-one, not even myself
For some unknown reason I cannot remember who I am
Everything is becoming most peculiar.
A strange carnavalesque atmosphere is gently blowing around me
Time has moved, passed, drifted, gone back,
Gone forward, gone down, gone up.
There is a tepid touch on me, I shake
Feel infinity of tears without inventory or cause
While the sun gives two shadows to one shape
I see the seven minute blackness of 2186

……..I hear beleaguered colors…live the words of yet unsaid…..see the ***** that lingers upon the back road… with its uneven tread…. and left black ink to paper pose…. that mingles in my mind…..and hear a chant of lullabies…. and in this light of darkness find…. the scattering letters of the globe and place them with a stroke upon the parchment in my palm….. then know for certain who I am not and thus know who I am…….

Is there a failure in me

To control unsanctioned energies

Energies that are demonized

Yet as such energies I have given free rein to

That seems to bring prolonged misfortunes

Of unjust encounters with an obedient stream

That leaves one to bear the extremity of dire mishap

Of unradical transformations that mount strenuous protests

And hover like that of an appalling malady cast upon themselves

In grotesque confusion causing scenes of tormenting fear

Present me before Cerberus a position for me that is

At once pleasurable and disturbing

i have been introduced to a fragmented universe
blue and silver
amid temporal ruins
oxidized epochs extract from me
thought processes and aural distillations
of a catatonic rage, that discards all trivia
in its scrutiny of minds
in a chronological diversity of words and images
it is a kinetic fluency of gestures
in an ****** calligraphy of expansive
transferable threads of thought
it is the real and the imagined
one that precludes inquiry
which leaves me infused
with a compulsion of composed complications
in episodic inspired delirium

the music of old fashioned births
is no longer enough
and this thought becomes
a magical opera
where all promenade a century
entertaining memoires
that beg release
like an early summer
that is to late
we shall not retire to a wilderness
for we are a great and radiant sin
like exploding nebulas of the mind

my breath is gone
a misquoted understanding
it is initiated by
lost geometric dimensions
of consciousness
a sensory experience
unlocatable, ecstatic
reveals an unexpected discovery
that binds cannot have
constriction of
leaves independent physical space
it is the color of a realized hallucination
like trying to find ones reflection
in Shiva mirrors

In a lavatory a pink transvestite

Applies ruby and rouge

To my cosmetic mask

Hoping for a wished encounter

A fiction overcomes us

Conveys us as strangers

Into an unknown territory

Leaves us there

The two of us, stranded

Our location inaccessible

As intuitive yet unpredictable

Thoughts cluster

In constellated

Images around

The rehearsed persona

Of myself

Flying with cut wrists

Above the color of a surrogate self

Osiris Son of Earth and Heaven

I suddenly feel the warm red viscous liquid

Slowly it seeps out furtively at first

Then with more determination

Down my arm across my right hand, across my left

Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip

I can sense it congealed on my head where my hands have been

Clinging to me not wishing to leave

My face is caressed by crimson fingers as a lover would

My eyes, ears, nose, mouth, neck

It seems to roam over me looking for a home

Trickling across my lips it offers, no dares me to taste

Teasing me, but my mouth cannot respond

Lips now matched against the scarlet

A growing blue in comparison, colour mix

Form a new symmetric sapphiric jewel

I feel rushing air as off a great wind

Bright white lights curiously dance above me

Invite me to join them

Colours speed past

Drab, dreary colours green, grey

Then suddenly a veil is laid upon me

All is black

i hear the collective understanding

of dry sticks as they crack

the shock of alarm signals

like the migratory diaspora

of birds flying south

vibrates across tingling nerves

causing a necklace of choking

to grip at the throat

shivering I try to find a grave

I am watched from the summit of a hill

as a conflagration spreads

flames quiver

orange, yellow, purple, blue

there is an irregularity of thought

within me

my bones will soon

be pitched into debris

a petrified shiver

they still watch from

the summit of the hill

i collapse, gripped with a fear

of a permanent consignment

like that of dropping into a hollow

my face becomes plum stained

the income of breath becomes

a tenacious gasp

smoke swirls around me

blinding my red eyes

I become a misshapen

component of myself

standing like an effigy

hands raised in supplication

hysterically I try to

rid myself of this tyranny

find no distinguishable form

no solidified inquisitive intent

I rush and lash out

with a galvanised

inner adrenalin raised frenzy

a red sun appears

on the summit of the hill

ferocious in its heat

it lacks all euphony

and disintegrates with

debarring light

now speechless and cold

i fear the wind will find me

i move, burrow back

into a darkness

fire strokes across a green canvas

i am fault and disappear

without trace