If life is the journey, then we are pilgrims,
hands bound and blindfolded,
stumbling to our graves with moments of clarity
and threats of immortality, scattered along the way.

It’s all do or die, no second roll of the dice,
where the blind lead the blinded with promises of paradise
through the killing fields, we walk this knife.
Conform to live, obey to survive.

Not while I’m still breathing will this world ever see me to my knees,
we’re all born on death row, I just wear my sentence on my sleeve.
Your vicious icons of god are nothing special,
these devils you unleashed.
If it’s blood that you want, you won’t get a drop out of me.

you are a giant
for me to climb over
i would climb, but
my spirit's broken, see.
so i crawl instead
over your legs,
you don't even mind
that i claw at your skin
sneaking glances
at the giant within.
when i make it to your thigh
i'm parched, so dry,
scared i'll disintegrate
and float away.
i push on, to your pelvis.
i made a camp on your hipbone,
licking what moisture i could find there.
you didn't mind when i set up my tent
made of ash and birch bark
i fell asleep for hours, awoke
with new zest
i skipped up your spine
until i tripped and you split,
exposing the marrow that tasted like wine.
i patched you up as best i could
then embarrassed, hurried on.
i played hopscotch on your ribcage
and got stuck there for days
until i was scared you were bored
and would wish me away.
i spent time
rubbing your shoulders
with my footsteps
as if to soothe you, because
i couldn't hold you.
i took a brisk walk up your neck
then stopped to stare
at your ascending jawline.
i thought of taking a strip of your tongue
and hanging myself there
from your chin.
but that's when you moved-
picked me up
and stored me in your cheek
and i learnt to nestle between your teeth
and treat you not like a giant
but like my home.
though, you forced me
to stand in front of the mirror
and say 'i love you'
thirty times a day.
telling me what to do.
forcing me to tell me,
and not you.

you can be that tortured soul as much as you wish
dreaming of her and passing the cigarette to me
she can be your lover, your midnight dreams
she could be your everything, she could be your queen
but she's not here
it's just me
right by your side
boneless with fear

do birds dream of dreamy dryland?
flying, soaring, roaring
captured in the enigma of the vast sky
pondering often, much less
about the swamp of the highland
of the island
of the low tides, that ride across oceans
spreading dimensional volumes of chaos and serenity
euqally, equally never though

misunderstood the platonic shifts
the globe revolves around itself
hiding its trail like a criminial mastermind
through the galaxy, ripping apart the cosmos
flying in darkness unwary of the past
concerned of the future,
only goal to set ablaze the multitude of stars
shining its own light from across the universe
an explosion in the sky
perceived by the very eyes
of the bees that thrive to make honey
sweet nectar

pollination, spreading seeds
far, afar from the mother root
like a wildflower drifting with the wind
of deeply crafted notions
spreading across nations
like a wildfire moving down the hill
sometimes up, yet still only filling
a thrill of moving against
gravity
of situations that arise
from within the minds of howless wolves
comfortably numb in the ice cold of ages
crying from within
the flock of sheep that it wears on its sleeve
honesty lives

buzzocks! bizzare, blatant, blunt
bulls chasing the motion of the picture
that lies infront
right infront the holy effigy
of moronic morals
played in the minds of infants
like the best selling vinyl
from the greatest rockstar of the lightyears

lost and forgotten, and found and preserved
in the mighty hearts of martyrs
entombed in the ground of wishful thoughts
flowers and flowers
long, relentless buzzing hours
of sobbing over what has become
revelation drives a madman

i want to peel the petals
of your skin
show me what you're made of
are there flowers in heaven?
you bloom with the precision
of an all-bared soul
let me be your fool
show me what you're made of
under the light of dusk
show me that grim smile
let me press your lips apart
with mine
touch your teeth
against mine
let me crush your breath
in the grip of my whole,
bare fool
O

you are a beauty
darling
show me what you're made of
show me your rose-petal heart

don't you dare sneer
and walk away from me
as if we meant nothing
as if i were nothing
to you

you were a planet
to me
now you are dust

how dare you call my poetry dust
how dare you brush away my love
like dust

i missed that
tiny white pill
it stops
me from chattering.
i tremble without it
buzzing.

you might
perceive me
as still
but i am erratic.
shivering.
tiny white pill
stopping the

wide eyed
teary
expression.

it keeps me
kissing you
it keeps me
sane.
it lets me dance

but you
make me sing.

are you
a tiny
white pill?

Make your love unspeakably wild she told me
like the textures of your nakedness
in the dripping sun and blinding water
when its late, late august
before the first damp morning
when you can’t deny
that the real heat is gone from the night.
It's ok to be sentimental if
it keeps the buzz in your ears
in this nowish spot in time
when there’s less and less
to draw you out of your nest.
There’s every excuse for this dullness
after a quick seven years
the weight of it shows in your face
on your grandfather’s heavy brow.
You both wondered
why you sometimes felt like strangers in this place
and why the sweetness of brome
can send you reeling in the dusk.
Seven years gleaned of their mornings
like so many beans in a bright steel pan.
Arriving late and later still
I felt the dawns irredeemable chill
and in the bluest of October afternoons, she said,
may your love be unspeakably wild.