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Head now shattered
My Brain lay splattered
My Mind thus expanded
Words spent and expended
Now only boundless joy
Certainly not a promotional ploy
Only peace and bliss
Like a woman's gentle kiss
You know what I mean
As I lie in my sweat’s sheen
The joy of foreplay
Culminating in words that lay
On this virtual paper
Soon to be forgotten forever
To make love with words
Is far better than with girls
My head now shattered
Brain lies splattered
My Mind now expanded
Words now rest expended
she crosses the line
black hair shining
like the raven's wing
alive like a bird in flight

eyes, soft, so complex

like a church's stain glass window

the sky above,
the sea below,

are not as blue.

and her seductive, smiling face,
lips blowing shadows,
courting lovers

a little risk involved,
a little madness necessary.

she'll steal your heart with passion
to set the night on fire,
spread the smoldering ashes across a page

and dance ballet while strumming
your heartstrings.

some jump into the fire,
and some are never free.

that flash of fire,
a savage love
as there ever was
burning through the canvass,

but when

she smiles...
Can the child
Return to the womb
Can the corpse
Return to life from the tomb
Can the withered flower
Now radiantly bloom
Can the big tree
Return to be a sapling
Can the present
Be reversed to the past
To all these questions
I definitely say yes
But not by going in reverse
For that is so perverse
But by going forward
Into the future
For it is all just a cycle
The future is the past we recycle
"...MORT SANS PLEURS..."
(Death without Tears)



"Life is the farce which everyone has to perform."
            Arthur Rimbaud - Bad Blood



Once again she
sensing her time

had come
she prepared

her last words
rehearsed her last breath

disappointed to see
a new day dawn

and Death had
stood her up.

"She has been dying now these
last 20 years!"

her long suffering husband
moans.

A fatal dose of
hypochondria.

She lives to fight yet
another.

Her mind rambling through
half remembered Rimbaud.

"Assez vu. . .
Assez eu. . .
Assez connu. . ."

(Enough seen. . .
Enough had. . .
Enough known. . .).

she intones as if she
were her own priest.

La music savante manque pas à notre désir
( Great music falls short of our desire. )

she chants as if she
were her own sacred ceremony.

Always the same snatches
from ILLUMINATIONS.

"I never read him myself
but know him off by heart

from hearing them from herself!"
sighs her little husband .

Years later she
gets it right at last.

"Il y a une horloge qui ne sonne pas!"
(There is a clock that never strikes!)

She gasps.

"Que les oiseaux et les sources sont ****!"
(How far away the birds and Spring are).
Using the power of brain cells
whilst wordsmithing…
researching,
making notes
and of course,
drinking buckets of tea.

I feel that advanced technology
is going to break our art,
as AI will scour the internet,
ripping it apart
to reassemble information
into some Frankenstein monster
in nano seconds, rather than hours
and that actually kind of makes me sad.

Will AI take over everything?
Will we battle with the machine?
What a crazy lazy world
we would live in!
shudders at the thought

©️Lizzie Bevis
Just a thought that manifested into something…
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