Could I turn from this,
from this unconscionable kiss?
Do I dare to care,
or switch to off?

Steady states,
Cold motion.
Passions rush,
grow devotion.

While tied tight up tight,
So tight this blood won't flow
to inure to endure,
Shun the spur.

Steady states,
Cold motion.
Passions rush,
grow devotion.

I believe in a past
that never existed.
Always willing to tell
others they should
be sad they missed it.
For what never lasts
can always be reimagined,
engineered ad-hock.
For me, the door to
the past is always wide open.
But, the one to the future
I cannot unlock.

so please don't give me the key
I don't wanna see beyond
what went before.

I believe in a moment
of imagined purity.
To close my eyes
on the acts of cruelty,
that lead to this modernity.
Only seeing the light that
concealed the night,
and the chains of *******.
For the good,
that is all I see.
Because I need to see
that good in me.

so please don't give me the key
I don't wanna see beyond
what went before.

Not a could in the sky.
Oh why, oh why.
I am as blue as
the sky?
Oh why, oh why.
Is the there no
reason to feel this way?

Must be something deep,
deep in self pity.
Must be something in this world,
Full of self pity.
Or just emptiness is the life
of this city.

Stuck in the patterns
of the day.
Don't stray, don't stray.
Chewing on another broccoli day.
Don't stray, don't stray
It must mean something,
for us to feel this way.

Towns mean frowns.
Pounds mean sighs.
People are just mean.
Hands are stained.
Minds are clean.

I guess life
is meant to be
such a bind.

Stuck in the patterns
of the day.
Don't stray, don't stray.
Chewing on another broccoli day.
Don't stray, don't stray
It must mean something,
for us to feel this way.

We bare each other's brunt
and weight.
Was this our hormones
or a game of fate?
The moon a ****** on
our heated moment.
For that passing passion,
we were the prey in
each others hunt.
Familiar through the night,
but strangers at the
break of day.

You know, I'm not really blue.
but I can't, just can't.
shake this not really blue.
When; i just.
take that shot,
that shot.
that shot of you.

The perfect Polaroid
image.
A dream of my imperfect
desire of you.
That deep hot
un-blue hue.
That makes me sweat,
sweat over you.
Makes me turn red hot blue.

You know, I'm not really blue.
but I can't, just can't.
shake this not really blue.
When; i just.
take that shot,
that shot.
that shot of you.

Shhh, don't tell anyone.
But,I'm not really here.
These aren't my words no, no.
Everything is a total no-show.

I'm only what I seem,
when I am not seen.
A shadow in the darkness,
in days of dis-ease.

Shhh, you're not you.
You never really were.
These words are not for you.
Just born from the void you grew.

Something like a tear,
but unseen.
Runs out between;
our space.
Tracing the clouds
from our silver lining.
To a feeling that
is in need of defining.

I wish to write
before feeling takes
flight.
But I fear it will
be a love song.
As if the world needs
another one of those.

Ruining out of ways
to say the same things
in my prose.
Trying to be dry.
But getting the
words out;
has me on tiptoes.

Sweating words;
pores full of metaphor.
not knowing if I
even make sense anymore.

It's not deception,
but it, I cannot believe.
These truths transmitting,
time permitting,
will crush me flat.
I'm not sure what to think,
in the fact's bull-rush.

Screaming out.
Damming it to be,
cardboard scenery.
In sincere
secrecy.

With a dash of nothing,
spicing the world.
Give me a kiss; no,
give me a twirl.
Splicing the word-weary
and thought-Leery.
Such fresh *******.

Screaming out.
Damming it to be,
cardboard scenery.
In sincere
secrecy.

Don't bother to think, speak or share.
Tomorrow doesn't care.
Not a glimmer of smile,
a whisper of a laugh,
to selflessly share.
Tomorrow doesn't care.

With unbound marching malice,
we're all swept away.
A scathing truth,
leaving surgical scars.

All our thoughts, dust in a sqaul.
Answering tomorrow's call.
With bow tied words,
a flash of a lier's teeth
and mind's growing small.
We will answer tomorrow's call,

With unbound marching malice,
we're all swept away.
A scathing truth,
leaving surgical scars.

Oh, an image's sweet deceit.
Mirror refracted reference
of truth; incomplete.
Full of speaking,but;
Silent now in meaning.

As every proud cloud,
hangs heavy in parallel.
In each lie's dowry.

Carbon bleak black streets.
Night bitten breezes blowing.
With countless; lonely heartbeats
Car lights speeding.but:
Not a sound is speaking.

As each lithe light,
Travels a blinding path.
But only, to be lost:
swallowed by the night.

Rote, just for you.
I can't help but
bear repeating.
What's gone cold,
is worth reatheating.
Speech is there,
in silence it drowns.
All I do is,
think and stare.

An eye for an eye,
across the room.
Or should it be;
A you for a I,
and I for you?

Alfredo Alfresco was born
In tesco's,
Right by the self service
Checkout.
It's an act from beyond.
(God's always been, well,
A bit peroxide blonde)
As to why,we haven't
Enough much information
To say.
After all, meanings can
Move in a mysterious way.

Hush little one.
No one will hear,
over the sound of the gun,
the panic on the street,
rule of the ruthless,
speech of the insincere.
So hush little one,
share you silence with everyone.

Some people come,
some people go.
Sometimes I shrink,
sometimes I grow.
And other times;
I just don't know.

Some people come,
some people go.
Sometimes I shrink,
sometimes I grow.
And other times;
I just don't know.

Poor old Howard.
He's a Cornflake coward.
Jumps art the sound
Of each crunch
And brittle bite.
Giving up the fight,
In his act of
Guttless confession.

His mother was a
Breadcrumb beater.
His dad was a
Post box persecuter.
His sister a sadistic
Spider spinner.
And each night they
Ate cornflakes for
Dinner.

Cornflake coward;
No need stress at
Their crunchiness.
In time; milk
Will soften their design.
Giving you a chance to
Chill and recline.

Spent all day.
looking for the perfect
thing to say.
but I guess these words,
will have to do.

None the less,
if a heart can ever
speak in jest;
This joke is for you.

It's all I need do.
Gather all the words
I could say.
They're less than perfect,
but so's any day.

Sum of the less,
if a mouth can ever
hide in jest;
a punchline for you.

An unknown artist's
unfinished masterpiece.
Hangs on an easel,
in a cold private room.

Waiting on the next
brush stroke.
Resting on the time
passing by.

The unknown artist's
muse has gone missing,
waiting on her call.
In his cold private room.

Waiting on her next
words spoken.
The phone still quiet
in his lonely hand.

I know,
what you'll never show.
Though I wont let you go,
I'm sure you'll slip away,
just like each yesterday.
left with just those
images in my mind.
Still dreaming of a dream
I'll never find.

Each time I see you,
I know for sure what I'm hoping for.
But I just get:
More salt water dropplets on my plams.
More broken heart cliches.
More of those missing days.

I know,
Why we're apart now.
Just a part of life's art,
Chiaroscuro of the human heart,
a forever between each stop and start.
But still it beats;regardless.
I'd rather a broken heart
than to be heartless.

Each time I see you,
I know for sure what I'm hoping for.
But I just get:
More salt water droplets on my palms.
More broken heart cliches.
More of those missing days.

Whatever comes,
whatever goes.
Whatever sinks,
whatever floats.
It all still grows.

even in the midst
of change's
ebbs and flows.

It bears repeating,
friends are fleeting.
they come and fly by,
with the out a glance.
Or a care in their eye.

Goodbye, to you.
Even as each tear falls,
when the past calls.
Goodby my former friend
goodbye.

Talk is cheap.
To you; I'm cheaper.
It hurts, you know,
evey time you go.
And it hurts the most
when you go for good.

If words had wings
and birds had words.
What would we
hear from the words the
birds would sing?
Words of the hardship
of the wing.
Or songs of love that
lovers sing?

Living as an imprint
in the sand.
Temporarily there.
Whisked up,
erased by the air.
Just as if;
you were never there.

You cannot deny;
this, then or why.
that little contridiction.
Incocistancy,
so constantly.
No need to know me.

let me wallow a while,
deep in my own dirt denial.
As a preposterous,
Hypicritapotamaus.

I won't lie;
exasperated sigh.
It's my own personal truth.
patiently,
so blatantly;
light won't show me.

let me wallow a while,
deep in my own dirt denial.
As a preposterous,
Hypicritapotamaus.

I woke up one day,
the sun had gone away.
While the moon
was nowhere to be seen.

In the growing cold,
the ice was gaining ground.
While time was growing old.

soon there would be no-one
to remember what had been.

The lines in the distance,
join into one.
we're heading to the
vanishing point.
If we disappear;
maybe it would be
a better difference.

Awry this earth's become,
frayed by changing fiction.
Dreaming of what,
once never has been.

Sold as a vain token,
for an declining return.
Fortold by our history.

Soon there will be no-one,
to tell of what was seen.

The lines in the distance,
join into one.
we're heading to the
vanishing point.
If we disappear;
maybe it would be
a better difference.

Ah, how long it's been.
Century and century of unoriginal sin.
We've lied and killed,
****** and been ******.
Grown out and up then round and back in.
Our head held high ideals,
over our dirt grounded feet.
The terror we've seen,
Each person we've ever been.
Looking for something beyond unoriginal sin.

Means of production for
repetition of an old proposition.
More for more's sake,
each against each other.
All on the take.
A fight to be "self-made."
So, come,join the staid.
Share or care, compassion.
All are in America; unmade.

When you think of all things that are bad, that you can't change.
All that which is negative in your mind.
Don't get caught in anger, despair or hate.
Just be kind.

We'll never know which of
our mistakes were lucky breaks.
Or if indecision;
was the right choice.
All we know is where we are,
if not what we are.
Even if;
we've made a mockery,
of the world's tickery tockry.
So walk on, sing strong,
with a heart in your voice.

I'm sorry, but I cannot give,
without being given .
Though my fee is fair.
So please; Do pay.
If you want me to care.

It's just they way it now is.
A brand new start,
Since I privatised my heart

My blood may run green,
But I'm not mean.
Or full of malice.
But only if you pay,
Can I give you more
Than fay sympathy.

It's just the way it now is.
A brand new start,
Since I privatised my heart.

The front line of desire;
where we're sold labels and lifestyles.
Recreating us to sell us back to us;
becoming the ashes of our vanity's fire.

Teeth Will walk,
Words Will dance.
Tongue's whip lash
Frenzy.
Cut's into eye's state;
Askance.

A Dance away from the
unquestionable answer.
hewn up in strings of moving space,
save a new question for a new day.

In all the toque of talk,
with what whatever will be.
Sheered off in all the spin.

Passages of statements,
towering columns of words.
Totter and teeter in unsure equilibrium,
all coded in meander messages.

In all the toque of talk,
with what whatever will be.
Sheered off in all the spin.

With purity or clarity;
only victory can win.

Today, today it is always today.
Never leaving my side nor allowing
my lids to rest their tension.
To hide from the always now,
the unrequited  thoughts.
Beliefs I never knew I had.
Within the seasons of the self,
standing in the shadow of my mind.

Away, away, please do not stay.
Give me tomorrow or yesterday,
Images and dreams of greater or new.
Visions of joy, structures of wax.
To follow the mind of the season.
Give me fact-free fantasy's
folly and fancies.

But:
today,today it's always today!
Always here to keep tomorrow away.

There's something swimming down there.
Unseen, subcutaneous under layer and layer.
Malice in that silence,
venom in that stare.
laying in wait, to strike, break,split tear.

Peace as a siloullusion of the swelling act.
Waiting on reality's organic nascent,
unresolved affair.

Whatever it is that swims waiting for a chance,
in your terror askance.
Will soon break on out, too real for fiction:
to swallow you whole in it's gruesome glory.

The body is dead,
but the brain just has yet to notice.
It dreams, thinks, and  reminisces.
Visions of unending life,
Self-serving endeavours.
So fantasy deep, it doesn't notice
the change in the weather.

Nor the twist of time,
cause's or causality.
Just dreams onward;
inner centred.
the most unenlightened  form of mind
masticated meditation.
Just thinking onward,
moving casually
into fatality

If we keep walking the same old way.
Not facing the future as we walk away.

In to a past that becomes the next day.
Following the path of a
Sunless may.

The sky will start turning a dangerous grey.
Bringing on storms to wash the many away.

I'll bring a question for your ears to touch.
How could you trust the
I's of much?

One more sunset;
what does it matter?
There n' gone,
unborn reborn.
Over and over.
Without a lick of sense,
or the luck of a four leaf clover.

Bodies burnt
brittle black.
On with attack
after attack.
Scores of scores
line the floors,
yet onward marches war.
So, please what is this
suffering for?

The tricks of the self:
to confuse and divide, ensnare and impair,
to turn the head on the tail.
Leaving us all chasing circles,
lashing out at phantoms and grasping for dreams.
Living our life's through fiction.
Against the real, it seems we rail.

My mistake was to believe:
To believe in human kindness or reason,
or that truth is in some way potent.
The idea that humanity could make sense,
of what the past will portent.
To dream that borders would not be
barriers to better ways.

Wrap yourself up in the night,
with wingless silent flight.
Up, up into the
Pin-pricked speckled sky.
With that glowing blank-faced
lunar loon.
Beyond the dark, into dreams.
That morph and shift, pour and flow;
As if the woken world is
something you can un-know.

If you want to make a killing;
invest in war.
Seems to work,
for Blair, Bush et al.
Those that follow
the hunger of their self aggrandised,
destiny's lore.
So, roll out the blood red carpet,
leading to the future's hungry jaw.

I'mnotreallysurewhatI'mwritingabout.
MaybeifIstartto slowdownitwill startto
makesome kindof sense.
There, that's much clearer!

You're treading slumber steps,
sloward on a single track.
Travelling beyond where
your eyes can see.
Just because you made the
choice it doesn't mean you're free.

With symbols of your uniformity,
as definitions of your individuality.
Selling yourself to yourself
just to sell it to others.
Living A life that suits;
as well as Oregon boots.

Drowning deep below,
while your words walk on water.
Swell and foam;
swim within and roam.
Just like the,
tears of your daughter;
all alone.

Grasping for self expression,
in unheard syntax.
They're are no longer yours,
as they walk to the shore.

Liquid leviathan's,
molten methods of meaning.
A truth for a truth;
matchstick's burning use.
Just like the,
world needs much cleaning;
to atone .

Grasping for self expression,
in unheard syntax.
They're are no longer yours,
as they walk to the shore.

From the thousands of lines drawn.
The pastel scribbled and smudged.
Paints graced onto blank spaces.

Why do I do?
No money, no acclaim.
But all the same,
I still do.

Notes strangled from guitars,
or arranged on staves.
Sound shaped to unseen geometry.
Heard by the occasional ears.

Is it all junk?
I'm no too sure
But all the same,
I do more.

Words thought and typed,
wrote and re-written.
Nonsense and sense,
some may have read.

Is there skill,
or sense in my sentences?
Or am I lost in
my own pretences?