If the stars did die
I wouldn't mind
If my eyes went blind
I couldn't find

Strolling the darkness
With souls like yours
Hearing the whisper
That binds us further

But
If the stars are bright
I'm grateful
If I can see light
I'm aware
If I can hear voice
I'm at ease

This is
Another
Version

Trampled
Lusciousness

No one
Told me
Of
A paradisal
Ether

Where one
Can talk
Through
Black mirror

A symbol
Of neck
Pain

Artificial
Light
Stuttered
Communication

A message
Received

A naked
Body
Or
Satire

All transferred
Via satellite
To my
Jeans

I feel an enormous serenity - floating in some lover's limbo.

Spectate the scene in silhouette.

While bittersweet coffee cuddles my palette.

I can finally breathe.

So why do I feel like a survivalist?

On a long haul where perceptions hinder.

For now I stay floating.

Chloro green
Sandpaper brown
Contrasted elements
Amongst shattered wild

Sticks
Out in the sticks
Blinded by time
And peculiar brightness

I live in Cotswold grey
In harshness
And swollen greed
Of human reality

Guilty for want
Guilty for need
Helpless mind
Helpless body

To live in the sticks

Care about old things to sell on
Living the memorabilia dream
What will you spend it on?
With blue-suede eyes
And polka-dot ties
What gives you a *******?

I can't live a middle-class dystopia
Where our class system's ******

Don't live to tick boxes and beam ceilings
Small minds without feeling
What's wrong with homosexual healing?

You converse on conversation pieces
I knock head on open-brick

Save it for your dinner guests

The further I run or hide, I fall closer in love.

On a legal high - like birdsong.

I'm told to marry, share wealth, *****, and a home.

Or what's the point living?

Too often, the frail mind of our bodies succumbs to desire.

Subhuman, neanderthal traits; where we want to love.

Or is that just a label for ****?