bildings in roowins
I rite with brokin-hand
it is the year of the unlord-tyms 2085
and skool hadbin abolishd since fyv decades
evrything in disrepair -
no hospitills no parks
no creche no greens
all grey and dark
now here I lie amid the rubble
I see they took my legs for under-market
what else did they take?
the last I'd eaten was 2 days on
a chunk of hard-bread whose colour would turn envy in its boots
with artifishal-milk whose curdled smile greeted the back of my arid existence
**** bastarrrrrrds! they put me under, sawed off my legs
left me hobbling with jagged wounds and smirk-pain like hot-rods searing my brand-new stubs
elementary-bandage of an old sheet torn into strips...
wait, I must use this anger as fuel to get me going
she told me so
many, many times..
(I can remember my mother reading to me
reciting from her memory
they had burnt evry-single-book Man had ever known
My eyes have never been graced with a book
she tort me words with stick in sand
and counting with stones
and there were many stones
she fed me poetry when there was little else to eat
with fainting-body and starving-belly
my mind took pleasure in her ultimate-care
she told me of a time when childrin took poor-interest
in the blessings of a book.. wen their minds were swallowed wholemeal by what they called media, I think
when they were not saddled with the worry of their next meal's magical-appearance
(I can spell 'their' at least, yes.. she made sure I knew the difference)
the only pictures I saw were the ones she drew for me
in the volcanic beach-sand when we ran away from the parasitic-city
I knew nothing of the world but what I saw around me
- decay, decay, decay
until she brought me colour - rite into the hart of me -
blooms that hurt at first, so bright and giving
that it saturated every molecule in my parched-centre
and I became a rainbow-suffused capsule in a otherwise drab-society
such wonder she spoke with open-eyes and loving-tones
and I also remember.. the day they took her..
I remember.. too much)
I crawl forward like a snake in the .. wait, what was that expreshin again?
I'll think later when I find a place to harbour my broken-body
thought is a luxury here
thers a horrible smoke in the air
stings me so
and I miss her so
I have nobody left
but I cannot feel forsaken, as so many do
and succumb to self-pity
she made sure my armour grew
from the inside.. first
and I took it with disbelief painted on my face
the things she told me about..
I cannot believe there once were -
green fields and trees with chirping birds
a blue sky
blue? not possible
I've never seen a blue sky
I think she was being kind to paint me portraits of psychedelia
to entertain and distract me
from the horror of our lives
I heard tales of things called flowers - daisies and things
like vegetables and fruit
it seemed funny to me - little beings in the ground,
standing rooted, awaiting harvest-hands
just for people??
no.. such depth of kindness I can hardly imagine
for we have had only *hard-earth.. most concreted
and drank only brack-water from collapsing pipes
no, an unforgiving-scene is all I know
she is so kind to feed me such fantasy-tales of deep-imaginashin
pity she could not tell any others
for any tenth-of-a-whisper of this to any wrong-ear
and her head would roll
in the gutter.. where we lived in contest with rats
she could only rally my mind and relay things which would die with her
things that she bequeaths
what will I do with it? this legacy of forgotten-paradise..
what can I do? this wonder-clad heresy..
I now know thers a way out these city walls
ther is a life beyond
with valleys and rivers and salty-seas
I must try to find a river
she told of oceans which live - which heave and swell and move!
she said these things too .. they exist
what quaint-things, indeed
oh, for dreems..
but now, I must off the streets
for a double-darkness has begun to fall
when red-eyes will scour the streets for scraps of flesh
anything is worth a barter
even a dead-man in a lane whose eyeballs are gone
harshly-hacked out living - by a previous-visitor
becomes a piece of currency for seekers of the dark
I don't know what they've done to her.. or where she is now..
yet, she always said - keep moving
for blue-sky and flowing-rivers and yellow-flowers..
(I wonder if it's real
I do believ her - I must)*
now I scrape on in haste into a darkening-alley
towards a derelict-bilding
whose sinister-interior is the only welcome it can afford me
I have little choice
no time for sentiment
plus, I feel a fever coming (perhaps this is all the dreem.. and she is the only-flower I know)
the night-Rats will come out soon
and I hate their stink
it doesn't help I leave a trail of blood..
only hoap lives
as I rite on with brokin-hand
onto the back-pages.. of my mind
S T - 5 octoblah
awoke with a feeling of piece of broken-building teetering and wanting to fall on me..
with legs gone,
junk, junk feeling :(
(anyway, it's just a nightmare.. I thought I'd plug that energy into this poem)
hoap.. hold on, alright? please :)
sub: thanks be
to the grey of skies I never see
to the squalor of the seas no-one can smell
to decay in every nook you can't tell
thanks be to the beauty of our times
and where none of such deep-calamity
touches our lives
(where love-tryst equals getting tangled..
in the stars)