Pencil shavings spilled in the drawer,
layering over my cerebrum cortex,
like fallout that fell out from my sleeve,
shaken down with me to the ground,
but bound never to leave.

Despite all this,
the pencil tip still snaps
whenever it feels my pain,
regardless if it’s invented or installed.

A thousand pencils broken in my grasp,
yet no words ever seem to last;
rhetorical questions and questionable rhetorics
jabbing my eye as if I’ve already worn it,
but the fabric feels more new to me
than the first day I bought it,

and I can’t remember
what I did with the receipt;
think I might’ve lost it in the gutter
with the other organisms
that were no better;

but maybe, if you would let it,
I could try my luck with some store credit.

i don't think i'll play
with pleasant words
tonight -- i'd rather
upset you with my
honesty than delight
you with laughably
phony repartee.

excuse the graphic aspect
but i'm not in the business
of acknowledging faux pas.

a reflection on state of mind;
i'd say solid, though somewhat
soft and liquid as well, like
a plate of spaghetti for brains,
i can't figure out which strand
of grey matter is meant for me
and which is supposed to be
slurped up by lady and *****
nor whether it is my pituitary
or my hypothalamus which is
destined to be taken home
in a doggy bag for seconds.

i really am lost.

Everyday caught
In the labyrinth of mind,
I am,
Where dreams,
And desires
And lust,
From nothing
Conspire something.

Destination: Canada Water.
The next station is Surrey Quays.
Doors will open on the right-hand side.
Exit here for Goldsmith's College.

In the cerebellum
Fragments flash cerebrum bright:
Wheels in tunnels burn,
A neural screech amplified deep,
As waves of electrons churn,
And in multiple places keep.

This stop:
- My birth -
Is in Westminster!

It’s time:

Do you love me?
DO YOU LOVE ME?
          Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

In the space-time continuum,
The labyrinth is forever,
Within a fourth dimension.

It’s time …

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

Lost in the labyrinth: a journey to an exit.
The Overground train pulls!
And from floor to ceiling,
Between vertical orange pins,
A medley of languid listless limbs lulls,
       Seated hips,
       Angled legs,
       Dangling feet,
And neck-less heads,
Lost, ghoul-like,
The disconcerted move doggedly on,
Everywhere somewhere; but forever nowhere
Through London's hills and bogs.

From  STOP to STOP,
In the labyrinthine network,
In tubes splayed out on cubes,
Of bright brushed viscose comfort,
Overhead, the ads exhort:

       Top Up Your Soul,
       Fast Forward Your Escape
And
       uSwipe
       uSwitch
       uSave

Like these,
A hundred escalating messages,
Each more insistent than the last,
Compel, enough to distract,
So man’s desire enslaves his heart.

Its time…

         You love, right?
YOU LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

How? Why?
Has bacterial sludge,
Built these edifices of glass and steel.
This labyrinthian cage,
Whose walls race up at the speed of light,
While the inner commuter flame gutters,
Everywher, in multiverses,
Supernovas explode in showers.
And for a moment, in the moment, The Overground chromatic glows.

New Cross Gate, Canada Water, Southwark.

Lit and digital and LCD:
        
  ALL CHANGE, PLEASE.
  THIS TRAIN TERMINATES HERE

A few automated steps, and:
       Southwark,
       Green Park,
       Then Baker Street,
Appear, fade and disappear.

Now walking down Belsize Road,
On the evening of the
Super Gibbous Moon,
As it rises high over the Ziggurat dimensions of the Alexandra Estate,
And all is blood orange at dusk,
As I, a slinking silhouette,
Make for the event horizon of home,
For surely given, and taken,
A few more bends, another turn,

It’s time, again.

         Love, right?
         LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
FREE ME.

To the event horizon of consciousness,
To that black hole at the core.
In death's star-like eye,
Embrace, pass through,
(Fear not),
On, through the labyrinth northward,
Entering and exiting,
We go awhile, a little longer.

Stars, my Stars,
Again, it's time.

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
DEATH FREE.
LOVE!
BE,
WINGS FREE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL

One more stop:

       New Bond Street.

GET BEYOND
DESIRE,
BEYOND THE LABYRINTHEAN LIE,
CONSUMER, DIE!
BE
MATERIAL FREE.

Last stop:

       No-name, this one:

BE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL.

SAY IT:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     DEATH FREE.
     LOVE!
     BE,
     WINGS FREE:
    
     WE ARE:
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL

the bottom has fallen
out of my world
but I cannot leave it
like that

what good would that do?

I have to rebuild
its substance
somehow
sticks & stones no use

only love & fortitude need apply

but where to find them
when anger pervades?
anger that’s fruitless
I know, I know

but heart is ruling cerebrum

heart is ruling cerebrum
heart is ruling cerebrum
but why not?
I’m only human

aren’t I?

so is he
and herein lies the challenge
humanity, its endless cycles
of life and death

and life again

I believe in that
in life again
I do
in many forms

it’s the transition that hurts

know that I love you
I always have
and
always will

You are a part of me of you

I am by your side
to hold your hand
a shoulder to cry on
if you need to

here for you

as you always have been for me

I love you, Pa

Into the delusion of night,
Our minds in the midst
Of euphoric delirium,
****** bright

Smoke of shroom dust,
Upon the loft
Ourselves the plant in brain,
Implanted within ourselves of cells

The invisible cells no longer,
As we glow in the rectangular prism
Free and breaking through,
My mind melts in mush

Sphinx statue sits still,
In his unChristly  pyramid
For a millennium we dilatatur,
Swept into a World already left behind

*Nosmetipsos plantarum in cerebrum,
Nosmetipsos plantarum in cerebrum,
Nosmetipsos plantarum in cerebrum

Animi futui, Animi futui . . . Animi futui
Animi futui, Animi futui . . . Animi futui

I adore you
With your forward brow,
Eyes of nightshade and black treacle.
Your image floats and unfurls in the ****** spaces
Between marks posed in gazette.
You stare back at me knowingly,
Cunningly,
As though watching the course of my life unfold.
You have stretched your hand through time
To let it fall in a cold gust across these pages,
Betwixt the folds of my cerebrum,
Your spectral lips prompting faintly
In the nook behind my ear.
-O goddess, O muse!-
O fellow soul…
You have found me.

Trauma cemented my secrets deep within the crevices of my core,
yet he cracks my chest and I am a chilled corpse
drenched in formaldehyde, slowly decaying,
laid open for all to study.

Ordinary organs on display, hiding the scars of past mistakes:
bruises from an ex-boyfriend don’t tint the epidermis,
wine that splattered the walls and my white t-shirt
have already left the liver, the folds of cerebrum
unscathed from the demons that scratched
away at my sanity.

He’s seen me naked, vulnerable, and now I’m terrified
that he isn’t interested in understanding –  
just observing – my anatomy.

Coffee for two,
I was sitting right in front of you.
I said you look different now,
but your brown eyes look the same.

Coffee for two,
I was sitting right in front of you.
You said I look the same,
but I speak so differently now.

Coffee for two,
I was sitting right in front of you.
We recalled the days,
how to kiss on our wedding day.

Coffee for two,
I was sitting right in front of you.
We recalled the day,
how we bid each other goodbye.

Coffee for two,
I was sitting right in front of you.
We talked about my dramas,
after all that we'd been through.

Coffee for two,
I was sitting right in front of you.
We laughed our hearts out,
telling each other how happy we are.

Coffee for two,
I was sitting right in front you.
We wished each other well,
for we have found ourselves.

Coffee for two,
I was sitting right in front you.
We said thank you but we had to go
and we turned off the camera on our yahoo.

I woke up *****
And went to the shop,
I got corn, peas, chopped gherkins,
All canned,
I raided the reduced section like mad,
Got some cheese
And some ham
That I won't allow to go bad,
cause I'll make a ton of salad
Out of this myriad,
For breakfast, munch and evening feast,
It'll last a fortnight at the very least,
I can top it up with this
Foul smelling liquor I brought from the east,
Among the other mementos in my cellarette,
I could have a party in my ******
In my kitchenette,
My flat is so hot I could sign post it
'sauna to let',
But the swingers here don't speak a word of
English,
One time they took their ya-yas out
And called ME a delinquent,
As if I've got a funny kind of pigment
They can't live with,
I've tried to put my finger on it
But I don't want it to get stinky,
I think they simply haven't got an inkling
As to what and why they're thinking,
But never mind those pinkies,
Let us go back to my shopping
Just as it was getting *****:
Before my skimpy trolley glided to the checkout,
I got a ticket for my pfand,
Which measured fairly to my pleasure
Of having my alcoholism,
Which is confess is merely leisured,
Redeemed into a form of solid ******* treasure.
Throughout the years my drinking
Let me celebrate the fear
Of lack of meaning,
It made friends out of strangers,
Lovers out of friends,
Ex lovers out of lovers,
Clowns out of boring people,
It made a clown out of me too,
My drinking took my money
And gave me a suspicious act
To cling to,
It made me a legless athlete
In a race against the future,
It excited me with waterfalls of chaos
Bursting through cracked normality,
It pretended to bring Arcadia
Into the ruling technology,
It invaded Scandinavia  
With lawless Somalia,
It put peaks and crannies
Into the dull landscape of
Nord Rhein Westphalia,
I have a whole worthless encyclopaedia
Of what my drinking did to me,
Page after page of random numbers
Makes for a baffling read,
I don't know if I should frame it,
Burn it,
Or get some ****,
My drinking always gave me an excuse to smoke,
I puffed my hours into nothingness,
Laughter & loneliness,
A condition of no ambition
Made life itself seem like a superstition,
But I don't want the repetition anymore,
Boredom is but a bed sheet of a sore old *****,
A stifling breath of a handicapped mind;
But
Being now so temporarily poor
I find it easy to smile
As the cashier counts my pennies
Making the citizens in line
In their Jack Wolfskins and denims
Very uneasy,
Men & women of the Rhein get seriously queasy
When they see a foreigner like me
Simply taking it easy,
You know I had to break my piggybank just to get here,
I crossed a red light when it was all clear,
I have no bike lights - I just disappear,
Who knows what is it that I do inside the night?..
Could be something good,
Might be something bright..
Anyway,
I got my receipt,
Said my 'schön Tag' alright,
I should have said 'schön Abend'
But I guess I'm not polite,
Then I rode in the street,
My bags dangling left & right,
Balancing my act
Under the waning Eurodollar moon,
Some react badly
when they're given **** to spoon,
But my lack of money
In fact makes me feel immune
To superficial cravings like
iPhones, clothes, perfume,
shavings, shoes, tattoos;
I'd rather spend a fortnight
In the arms of David Hume,
Than stopping by at Rügen
On my way to Cameroon,
On a beastly ocean liner,
With pommes and Pauliner
Supplied ad infinitum!
I don't know my own mind,
I's time to take a trip down the ol' cerebrum,
While tickets are at a minimum
And the season is at a premium,
I'll tame my tantrums without ******,
I'll let my maelstroms guide me to a podium
Of perfect equilibrium,
I'll get a glimpse of wisdom
By watching my own delirium,
I'm serious about this.
I don't reminisce about the years
I dismissed by watching television series,
Dumbing down with the Big Bang Theory.
I feel so blessed to be weary
And out of breath
From the long hand of entertainment
That wants to tickle everyone to death,
It's an epidemic worse than crystal ****,
But it's not hard to shake the fever.
Only a ****** was born to be a ******,
Man was cursed to be a dubious believer.
So kiss my feet
Or chop me with a cleaver,
Nothing will stop me from becoming an achiever,
Nothing but the habit pattern of my own demeanour.

some men and women
will scale you from 1 to 10
like they have lived within
the outlines and inlines of your body,
like it's your fault the moon has craters
or a crow was born albino
or death is inevitable

but they have only seen
the curves of your waist
when they should have seen
the curves of your cerebrum,
blooming with constellations on every turn;
they have only seen
the bumps of your biceps
but they should have seen
the bumps of your big heart
pumping rivers of stardust on every cycle
because you are not a 1 nor a 5 nor a 10—
you are a hundred

it is not your fault that
you carry cosmos in your veins;
i am proud of you—
it must be difficult to handle
that much beauty and power

and this is why their scales
only last up to 10—
because they can only see
the milky way
when you are
the whole universe