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.

If we let it,
reality will eat us whole:
then **** us out.

It grows grim,
that's quite clearly true:
it's hunger's boundless.

A slight chance,
to slow it's rapid charge:
or to turn it's tail.

It lays in us,
a strong counterweight:
small hopes spark.

If we remember,
What brings it power:
is our self doubt.

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?

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.

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.

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.

As if she stays.
Ever ever stays.
A written word's waste.
Her good grace,
and mordant touch.
An adagio distance,
with askance persistence.
Craves to never have had,
never had been.

Count the doubles,
and minus the count.
Split the difference,
forget the amount.

It does hold.
hold hold on.
In silence's wordless way.
A slight trace,
my mindful crutch.
A cadence of defeat,
age of the time complete.
A Wish to have forever,
that which was never.

Count the doubles,
and minus the count.
Split the difference,
forget the amount.

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.

I don't know if I have any talent.
Or know if what I play, write or draw;
is of any value.
Most likely not;
to the world at large.
I just do that what I do.

Will it bring me my bread?
pour me my water?
No, not at all.

Will the money flow to me?
No, clearly not.
So what does it do?
why is it worth it all?

Because; it is my reason,
my love, my need.
The spark, the birth,
the seed.
My lover, my heart,
my child.

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

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.

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.

As we ride through the tide
of the ever increasing us.
It quickly becomes clear,
that the dead aren't the
only one's who died.

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'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.

A dream is dead, only work remains.
No splendid deeds of creative worth;
or even ones of pure mediocrity.
So bury my mind and body
in the dirt.
I may still be living;
but my mind's inert.

Goodbye pen, paper,
notes and words.
My spirit is
Split and burned.

I was a fool to
think I'd ever be
more than a fool.

Goodbye; This life
grows too cool.

Never label a politician as an idiot;
even if the label is true.
Chances are they still know;
better than they do.

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.

All the dunes, done and rested.
sand that's travelled and arrived.
Lifting the clouds on a lover's sigh;
to dance around the sun.

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

When the measure is of a greater
worth than that which is measured,
we will diminish.
The grammar of our time will
be perfect.
Our words will be so refined,
but meaning will be
impossible to find.

The length of us will be the last of us,
the depth of us will be lost on us,
and finally we will be perfect.
Finally we will be empty.

We will live for the moment,
but each moment will be sparse,
we will diminish.
Each thought will be magnificent
in structure.
Our hold on “reality” will be firm.
impossible to transgress,
impossible to learn.

The length of us will be the last of us,
the depth of us will be lost on us,
and finally we will be perfect.
Finally we will be empty.

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.

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.

Hear those droplets.
trickle and speckle.
Falling to the right,
strong against the night.
It’s only a light thing,
just some water on the wing.

Bedded down,
silent alongside.
warm and salty,
All too easy to hide.
It’s fallen from my vision,
a vision of you by my side.

Steady on into time as
part of me that isn't mine
Until the morning comes
and I touch down.
Then it’s time for me
to leave this town.

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

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.

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.

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.

Though she's softly gone.
There's no watery eyes,
Despairing sighs;
From me.
Just the remembrance
of her touch
and her words.

With affection.
slight melancholy.
That come
with times gift of clarity.

I cannot curse the time spent,
the talk and chatter.
of sense and nonsense,
about what does
and does not matter.

How could I ever see
her in any other light,
when she's the one who
gave these words
to me?

He smiled weakly,
though it was sincere.
Sighed meekly,
burnt out; completely.
But still;
there is something
that made it
worthwhile to be here.

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.

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.

Love; my friends: is dead.
Though yes, it's corpse still
has clean smooth skin.
Warm to the touch even in death.
Eyes both bright and bold,
all in all perfection unfurled.
But still and Lifeless it lays.

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

Wax hammers melting under a suspicious sun,
bubbling on the soft tarmac road unspun.
Sarcastic grass struts in impotent arrogance,
at the rustling of a billion pointless paper bags.
As sparkling sin, trusts a single pointless poem.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Starry starry lies,
You paint their tombs a deathly grey.
Look on as bodies crimson lay.
With lies that show the darkness of your soul.

Gallows on the hill.
Bodies in the trees countless kills.
Spread disease with inhuman chills.
With ruined streets in a violent land.

We'll always understand, what your actions came to be.
And how your turned you back on sanity.
And how you could lie so free.
They would suffer, but we did know how.
Perhaps you'll suffer now.

Starry Starry lies,
Burning towns in a heat haze.
Panicked streets in violent days.
Refract in Tony's eye's of blue.

Bringing blame to you.
All their tears as falling rain.
You face etched with shame.
Is hidden behind powers roaming hand.

We'll always understand, what your actions came to be
And how your turned you back on sanity.
And how you could lie so free.
They would suffer, but we did know how.
Perhaps you'll suffer now.

May I borrow a tomorrow?
I'll trade you today and yesterday.
One is worthless,the other's
too much work.
Just give me the result,
without the effort,
and I'll be on my way.

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.