The icy woodland cradles unknown tales,
Of the woman of the earth.
Where man is no longer surrounded
By objects of his greed.

Deep within the glazed leaves,
An erasure of material compulsion
Drifts with the sailing wind -
Wants are dissolved and freed.

Expulsion from man's apparatus of power
And immersion in this alternative story
Where harmony lies with her great presence
Indeed is what we need.

Toast and fleas, dead with butter.
All the things that unlike no other
Bring repulsive familiarity, joy and blood;
Like a soiled white flag, or a planned flood.

How is it that I can live
In such a notorious quarter for trouble,
And yet feel like I am inside
A buoyant and cushioned bubble?
Why is it that when returning home;
To the clean, rural air,
People feel inclined to abuse,
taunt,
beat
and tear?
This security blanket draped
Over this small seaside town,
Leads people to ignorance,
arrogance
and always looking down.
To tell them that there is more,
Will end in a smack or a punch.
I guess I have to accept these people do exist
When it comes down to the crunch.

I don't know why my teeth,
Continuously seem to be preying
Upon my very own flesh:
Choking my words,
Devouring what I am saying.
I really can't control
Their spiteful, teasing tenses.
But it's starting to hurt:
My lip's swelling,
Alongside my senses.

She was a good girl
Always did what she was told
Until he was taken from her
When she was not very old.

She supported the other love
He left behind
But in doing so, she chose to escape,
To hide from what she may find...

The loss etched into her,
Invisible to sight.
Something that irritated sometimes
And halted sleep at night.

But as experiences soared
With her growing age
She relised she'd passed this test -
Onto the next stage!

Carnival girl; exuberant and enchanting,
Scattering feathers and glitter as you sway
Through the swarm of dancing, dilating faces,
Patchwork robes, electric threads and strawberry laces.

Carnival girl; a hurricane of exhilarations,
Swirling and spreading relentless wonder
To all - none deny your splendour,
Your mystical ability to be dangerous and raw, yet tender.

Carnival girl; are you just a test for my desires?
Tugging at puppet-strings, miming my dreams,
A figure for me to fester my fantasies...
Or perhaps jus to challenge the acceptance of my realities.

There's no reason to pretend
That you don't excite my senses,
That you don't push my buttons,
That I completely ignore the consequences...
Of being connected with you:
The destruction from within,
The fight for just your gaze,
Must one day become a sin.