I heard a squeaky noise
of fevered vigour.
opened to see a shocking
act of a well known figure.

For it was Mickey mouse!
******* a slice of Jarlsberg!

A dickey mouse pounding away.
The cheese isn't complaining.
So, I guess it's ok?

Look out here
It comes
Sum of someone's sums
Perverse calculation
Trigonometry as sensation
Graphic illustration
Of a pre-ordained mathematic
Desire
Intersexual intellectual
Pythagorean triangle of lust Figures
Add and attract
Add and subtract
Add and subtract
This physical abstract
To form the total goal
To fit the math of a
Human hole

When we dress in phantom finery,
we can only expect disillusionment.
Choke ourself with all our fantastic desires.
Complete mental malnourishment,
from our heart deep self harassment.

Let small smiles slither away.
Gut with tender savagery,
aversions to avarice.
Self-servile self-worth denial,
wash small magic away.

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.

Watching the motorway
from the cafe'.
resting my feet of clay.
Under a sky of clouds,
that some may say,
have silver linings.
But all I can see is the grey.

Just sitting here,
on a summers day.
With my imaginary girlfriend.
You may see empty space,
but to me it's a beautiful face.
With long glimmering
hair of every colour.

A mind of endless adventure;
she whispers ideas,
offers advice,
and  I listen.
She never needs
to speak twice.

Just sitting here,
on a summers day.
Listening to her;
“ you can write a poem about
me and it will say;”

Just sitting here,
on a summers day....

I cannot hear, the past in my rear view mirror;
Nor the wheels rotations,
or motion's sensations;
While under a flower bouquet
182.88cm away from me.

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.

I try;
with my little lie,
to make
a subtle adjustment
to reality.
A slight hue
of the untrue.
Coloured just
to suit me.

It's only one
little fraction
of the larger whole.
Surely that's worth
the loss of a little soul?

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.

Entropy is not decay.
It's the platform of the
present day.
For all that disorder,
is what lead us here.
It's what we name
change when it's
change we fear.

Words wings clipped,
By a shadows sharp edge.
falling down
to meet history's drowning dregs ,
swim and struggle in the
unseen stream.
Dying alone unheard.
Goodbye; dear word.

I don't need to see you to kiss you,
or not be with you to miss you.
No need for flowers,
speech or silence in our hours.
Or to tell you twice in a trice.
We just need to be;
to show what we both know.

Go on;
swallow yourself whole.
force each tasty piece of *******,
each lie you tell yourself.
Open wide and fit all in.
Gorge on;
your manufactured nuance,
shout the praise of your “brand.”
don't let the real you out;
crush it in your hand.

In the a place outside of any place.
In the space between space.
where there was never a point without anything,
or  a point filled with something.
Is the incomprehensible question;
with it's incomprehensible answer.

Just some words on the run.
swift across the page.
fleeing from each
snappy slogan you
slip them into;
as is the fashion,
in the social media age.

Cash-bag that hashtag,
in your ego's account.
watch that self
worth multiple,
until finally you're
the apple of your
own eye.

For other's “inspiration,”
flash your bare
cheek ***.
for other's “motivation,”
show that six pack
muscle stack.
As if you're both
the world highest ideal
and  it's base foundation.

But, all that's wrong
is true of me too.
so just like them
pass me by.
After all, this whole
thing is more words on the run.

I want to melt a wax Viking,
with a piece of sword shaped kindling.
Watch the face drip, sag run into a
droopy frown of fluid features.

To saw the head from a celebrity mannequin.
Watch fall it to the floor,
with it's perfect teeth and face;
plastic smooth skin.
Almost as plastic and smooth as the “real” thing.

To tear the words from the mouth
of a liar, cheat, chancer and con-man.
Rearrange the words to spell out the truth.
watch the eyes and puffy face spasm,
as if possessed by a phantasm.

Old wooden knot holed thing.
rust wearing; sitting unplayed.
Strings silent.
Manuscripts of faded scores.
Tarnished ink quavers and semi quavers,
ride the weary stave.
This unheard music fills
the room with it's silence.

A burnt out bulb,
just hanging there.
No more light to share,
or shadows to shear.
No phoenix moment,
Totally spent.

Inflection detection in wording circumspection.
Emotion induction from sentence construction.
Thinking,reckless, breathless.

Intrepid interpolated  meaning interpretation.
Conclusive concussive membrane concussive.
Paranoid, panoramic, irrational.

Dogmatic denial Vexing act servile.
Divisional divisive delusional decisive .

Thinking,reckless, breathless.
Paranoid, panoramic, irrational.

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.

You may think you have no shadow.
But I see it dancing behind you.
I can't see it's face,
but I'm sure that it's smiling.
But it's no smile of fructose.
Just of bile and scorn overdose.

With topography riding limbs.
In seamless synchronisation
with yourself.
I hear it whisper and hiss,
with sounds of ****** bliss;
At each unseen bruise inflicted.

God save the Queen,
and **** the NHS.
***** the poor,
revere the wealthy.
Business is good;
the population; unhealthy.
Your  life's duty to the nation;
Work, spend and copulation.

With currency the cutlery,
to carve the nation up.
We have no choice but to
sip  the poison sup.
Turn weak on weak,
Anger from frustration.
In the cold cold heat of
the cruelty of this nation.

******* the Queen,
and save the NHS.
Give the wealth,
to one and all.
Heed this call;
what we need today.
Is to take back power;
so we can give it away!

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.

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.

I do not belong;
nor would I want to:
to your flags, regalia
and fanfare.
Your anthems of
passion for
plain dull soil.
Bore my mind
and curdle your thought.

I could not sing;
those songs of unity:
the many words
and melodies of
vicarious triumph,
imaginary victory's.
A vague sense
of something,
of which you're too sure.

I will not hoist;
the fabric symbol:
watch it fold, dither
and ripple.
with the imagined weight
and meaning.
That which you treasure so
deep and dear;
is just a flag in the wind.

Oh my dear Hubcap !
for you I fear!
Laying here;
resting on a roadside,
Torn from your kin.
Subject to mother nature's
weatherly whim.
Your once grey metallic
reflective brilliance,
turned dour by
creeping oxidisation.
That fate gave
a deliberate curse
is clear.
Oh my dear Hubcap!
for you I fear!

You're really pretty strange.
The way others speak of you.
Without ever really knowing you,
Or having spent time in your presence.
Often they talk at you,
then listen to you speak.
But seem to hear words
different from the
ones you spoke.

Strange, quite strange.
Though, it seems to work well for you.
Whatever you take or say.
whoever you bruise;
metaphorically or literally.
Is transformed then by some act
of inner god, to acts which
sanctify the passion that
you inspire.
That passion which sparks bonds,
matrimony and procreation.

And yet it seems, as songs
has often said, you really are forever.
Even if you are not with
them forever.

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.

This world is a swam with
a broken neck,
rotting on the canal side.
While the junk of human
life floats in the deep-dirt
water; The cans,
wrappers and sunken
shopping trolleys.
Rancid under a sun
sweating light.
With all the eyes
that dare not look
on the physical,
nor the metaphysical;
for fear of clarity.

Pupils dilate,
control capsized.
bring you
close enough
to fill more
than your eyes.

**** the literary pretence!
fulfil my lust.
Give me your
sweet recompense.

Each touch
and caress,
types pure feeling.
Sensations that
give words no meaning.

We write this act
upon the world.
With sounds of
animal grammar.

Time can wait,
well past sunrise.
Our stanzas
on our bodies;
as we sleep in
each others eyes.

Yes you are certainly truly;
the forever blameless you.
Not blanched, scared or blemished.
Proudly sweep on through,
the disease and disaster.
here are you: the auteur ,actor,
written, and right.
demonstratively a demon
on a wreck and toll.
A *****-shaper of reality,
Casting a shadow of blight.

Choking in you clothes,
Tight; pretty as a tiger rose.
Wild claws, sharp point needle feet
Slightly reddened, in light of
Blood dead moon; resting on a
Salt grain littered sky
Hurry up n' drink the glass throne pond
Squander its delusion sup
Quickly now fresh prey is nearing
From unnatural light clearing
From the songs of the throng.

Your claws deep in;
Drawing his tin blood
All the wealth, of
Disease potential
Your groans of
Victory.
At the peak of flesh;
Lust referential.

Night; pretty in absence Of days clothes.
Glares darkness through home
Windows.
You prey is consumed withered
And fallen, twisted to a whim.
From snake to worm, birth
Blood stolen from him.
your Tiger rose left him
Sleeping in weakness.
Now hunger freed
Back to the daylight
Life you lead.

It's a solemn sun that sets
on your final day.
To lay forever un-awoken.
the last leaf having fallen,
a final breath spoken.

But anyway,
the suns heat remains
in photographs with
dusty frames.

The sun was there,
it will be again.
Just in a different body;
with a different name.

Fallen ashes in the wind
and rain.
But it's all a reminder
that there once was
a flame.

A solemn way that sets up
a brighter day.
For the new awoken.
As the sapling grows,
the chain; still unbroken.

Sweeping all the dust and waste.
Before; before you go.
Leave it clean and spotless.
Before;before you go.

What was it before it was new?
You clean all away,
so you cannot answer.

Close the door and lock it shut.
Just as; just as you leave.
Pocket the ice cold key.
Just as;just as you leave.

What did you keep behind the door?
You don't reply.
Because you've no need to any more.

Floating bloated.
Life aborted.
Rotting sockets.
A bobbing lifeless buoy.
where the river meets
the sewage.

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.

khopesh kisses,
she plants on your face.
Her empire of cruelty;
leaves you to rot.
Your bones to bleach,
in her desert heat.

With each cut,
you're drawn closer.
such an elegant poison,
is the power of passion.

Cleaverly cuts,
scamper on veins.
Life's blood is leaving;
to never return.
You are never you again.
she may leave;
you keep the pain.

In this world.
Built on  foundations
of  temporary truth.
Where the root
is the limit of any route.
Growing into the stories
we are taught, from
the consensus in which we live.
We must remember,
truth can be changed.
new foundations can be built.
What is imagined can be what is.
Revolution;
is the gift we should give.

Insufferable suffering at the heart of sulphur intent.
Resolute in repetition, caustic in touch,
austere in intent;
ruffles words and mixes in ego‘s promise of absolute within.
Endless shining perfection.
Clarity personified.
Morals petrified to a solemn stone reminder of sin.
All suffer; in the dead heart
Of powers self pleasuring whim.

When it falls will it make a sound?

I'm sure that we will hear.

Will it touch the ground?

I'm sure we'll see.

Does it matter in the slightest?

No, not in any great way.
it's all down to the laws of causality.
After all, it's just another tree.
One loss is only a loss,
if it leads to a multiplicity.

Who was it that took axe to bark?

We have no need to know

Why do the deed to bring the fall?

It does not matter; another will grow

will it just stay here to rot away?

No,We'll burn the wood to
be warmed in the cold of night.
To let us see and cook in it's light.
A wrong for our needs,
and our wants is always a right!

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.

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?

I was in a toga,
she was doing yoga:
I don't know her.
Handed me the sushi,
instantly I grew a beard;
It was bushy.

Her eyes mad a sound like
lightning,
which startled a sardine.
The sky was aquamarine.

Living in those strange hours,
between each tick and tock.
Melting the moment's
from the clock.

A wakeful sleep,
all passes by.
Ideas appear,
then slide away.
Maybe they fell
below the bed
on which I lay?

Turning those strange hours,
around my mind.
Looking for the ideas
I never find.

What is the use of a human being?
A human doing.
That loves the thrill of the purchase.
To consume and reproduce.
With total belief and dependence
on the system that keeps
us mind-locked.
When we all can be, and do,
so much more.
But for now the future
lays behind a self-locked door.

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.

Eye light candles,
twisted winking at
whirlpool water walls.
Cracked note sound saliva ,
arrives late in the day.
While the eye light candles'
wax melts to tears.

Free-floating mouths
switch on insincere smiles.
With micro-tonal sneers that
flex in a wind
of pointless perpetuity.

The smile's
smile their smiles.
The eye light candle's
wax tears fall to fate.
A sun wakes and exhales
light; but it's far too late.

My pet theory goes running in the yard.
with it's, “is this what it is or something else?”
And self imagined self imagining
another's imaginary me.
Questions of will this be as it should,
or as it will be?
Tips it's head to one side in confusion;
then raises a leg n' does a ***.

My pet theory loves to go chasing  cars.
With it's “is what ever we have what we deserve?”
Blaming the other for the others need
while praising the “I” over all others.
Questions of are all creeds ,species
and kin truly brothers?
Tears the bumper from car;
Runs of to place it with the others.

My pet thero.... Oh, it's just
gone and laid a nice big
steaming pile of pretence
on the kitchen floor.
I don't want this pet theory Any more!

© 2016 Greg

We will pay to ****,
but not to save.
We will give the bill,
to who we ****.
and let them
dig their
own grave.