The smoke that swirled up from her pipe
hung there in the air, partly obscuring her face
With cupped hands she began
to gather the smoke
as if it were sand on the beach
Very carefully she began stroking
and teasing it until it appeared
to be taking on the properties of a solid
What had been the contents of her lungs
moments before, were now compressed
to the size of a tennis-ball
This blue-grey sphere hung there between
us like some strange smoke-filled soap-bubble
As I began to open my mouth to say something
a sword the size of a pin flew from my lips, and
burst the bubble whereupon the smoke fell
to the floor like fine white snow…….
“…don’t you know?” she said, with a grin,
“…that’s just the way that wars begin!”
As she refilled the pipe with twigs and weeds
she raised one eye-brow and a voice somewhere
between us said…..
”so you want to find yourself,do you?……..
don’t you know that talking to yourself
is the first sign of ’SANITY?”….
“And with that my mouth
involuntarily said “FORKS”
but the sound didn’t come
from the side of her bed
came the unmistakable sound of forks falling on a
wooden floor…….and everything began to rhyme
then I heard the chime of her quartz clock
a rooster appeared, with an immense ****
……..attached to it’s head
by the wind it is lead
but East is opposite North instead
then she scooped it up
and it turned to twigs..
before my eyes could adjust….
…….the phosphorous flash of IGNITION
the firey INQUISITION
As she relit the pipe, with what seemed to be
my thoughts and dreams made real
in solid words
in solid air
I cried in deep despair
for the weight of untold shame
that showered like rain
on those who could not explain
their own pain
on those trapped in shame
those crucified for vain
making everyone to blame
for MY pain
which falls like rain
into her upturned hand
where it forms a lake
called “my mistake”
Based on a lack or something missing
I can hear the hissing
of the black snake
the guardian of the gate
my birthright to legislate
catch fire before my eyes
as another dreamy spire
of grey-blue smoke…….
…….rises into the void
for a brief moment the only rhyme is
but just as quickly it is gone
As the pipe glows then rises musical notes pour
from its bowl as if the Mistral wind itself were
blowing through the embers.
Upon inhaling I am surprised to find that my
companion has been joined by Oscar Wilde…
heavily, theatricaly disguised as an empty chair
with accompanying wall-paper
This observation becomes solid in the air
and suddenly there are chairs everywhere
in my pockets, in my pipe, in my hair…..
chairs of every size and type and colour everywhere
no standing room, just chair upon chair upon chair
“Collect your thoughts” said Oscar Wilde
to me, as if I was a naughty child
So, slowly, I gather the chairs together
with cupped hands, like sand, into one single chair
then lay my pipe upon it to make it real
from behind the canvas I step….my hands reveal
PAINT AND BRUSH
IN SUCH A RUSH
GRIND AND CRUSH
“ “….have you fallen in love with that pipe?” asks the chair
As I stare…
yellow sunflowers everywhere
festoon the walls, the floor, the chair…..
there's rubber clothes and x-ray hair
starry nights and daymares
loveless thighs and derrieres
cut price love unguaranteed
sure-fire ways to dispose of seed
right now…… with GREED-SPEED
rivers of come, knee-deep
bed’s on fire…..can’t sleep
cut off my ears but they won’t bleed
instead they turn to ****
which I place on the chair with the pipe
and invite my companion to take her feed
“…don’t mind if I do” she replies
“…but must we forever sit inside?”
“..not far from here I think I spied”
“… a cornfield……some countryside..”
“we could walk far, and near, and wide
then round and left and right outside
till darkness falls upon our heads…..
and sends us scurrying for our beds”
But sleep won’t come
because some elektronik hum
is buzzing in the walls
makes me shiver in my *****
till my spirit-level falls
and my skin begins to crawl
off my body,….up the walls
………skinned alive on a granite rock
……beneath the stars of future-shock
with billions of others
with no cover
other …than the cold blankets of mist
from the wounds in my wrist
CAN MY SOUL RESIST?
WILL MY HEART DESIST?
FROM BEATING IN MY BREAST
WILL MY BONES STAND THE TEST?
…….or will they crumble like the rest?
and be blessed
as she smokes me in her pipe ….
I am scorched by her love
that comes raining from above
into my upturned hand
and when I can no longer stand
another day another night
in this lifetime of fright
and I want to take flight
I drink her from my hand
like fresh spring water on a summer’s day
she makes my head sway
to the natural rhythm
of her breath……..
of her smoke…..
of her hair……..
of her chair….
where she is…..
She gives me back my skin
fills me to her brim
then strikes another match
and draws me deep inside
till I can no longer hide…
my grin, a mile wide
I’m safe here inside