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Tiana Jun 24
Seen enough
Stumbled enough
Tolerated enough
But still can't get enough
the way this world works
Random thoughts
Functioning
at the junction where now becomes then
and then it was now and
then now again then,

functioning in a state of disarray
tomorrow it is but today was yesterday
when tomorrow was a day away,
It's still now or it was
now it's then.

I see the rings spinning
round where
space is not there
it's here
on the ground,

each galaxy whirls as I flail and
still fail to recognise
blue skies?
I believe in them,
but then becomes now and then then again.

Where did I lose the capacity to
fit in with that which surrounds me?

Functioning
barely recognised
and he dies,
the funeral a first class affair
buffet laid on
but
nobody there
when became now
and then never came
no one to blame,

no function and
we're dropped off the list,
I wonder
do we ever exist?
Time,
and time being our greatest asset
what do we do with it?
we
pass it around like a bag of
Maltesers,
it eases the pain but puts time
out of joint.

Let's face it
if
time is curved like space it
comes back
doesn't it?

Don't we recapture those
moments when rapture was
moments away?

Play time
school time
home time
work time and time
to grow old
with a mouthful of
chocolate.
I've been listening
to
Joplin and Cohen,
sad
knowing they're gone,
but
if we do live on in the
words of the song
all
is not lost.

Everywhere I have ever been
everything I've ever known,
seen or shown is
a part of me,

lyrically composed?
only
God knows
and
he's
keeping quiet
tonight.
Just scribbling in the bible book
taking a gander
having a look at
what Jesus said,
but
there's a lot of other things going on with
Mathew,
Mark and especially Jonah who's
slightly older.

The unexpurgated edition tells
the real tale,

It's a bit Medusa to say the least.

But this is not about religion,
that's not my pigeon as the hawk would say,
that's if hawks could talk.

it's more of a stroll through the undergrowth
where the lichen grows or
dipping my feet in the water and wiggling
my toes,

Realisation.


nothing is real
people craft miracles from icicles
and how hot is that?

we talk in rivers of riddles
we walk on flesh made of stone

call it a poem
call it galvanised steel
but
nothing is real.

Infinity stretches out like a worm
and
how do you compete with it
or last as long as it.

Repro'

the double and triple,
quadruplicated replicas
in camera
locked in a screen,
the ripple that runs through
your dream
where nothing is real but you
know it's not true,

are you the potency of
the reprobate?

Summer and the winds are fair
to the seafaring man
who used to be there
but who
now lives in the mission.

All things end in the end which is
as unreal as it gets.
She makes the best
of what is
the rest of me,
I trust
in her decisions.

Wisdom begins
where lust ends
I trust in this
but
just
one more kiss
for luck.
When the chaos
that is confusion
in a mind drugged
by illusion
becomes the sanity
of a society
that is comfortable
in its reptile skin
and
the spin put on the word
outweighs a
centrifugal force
it will be time to tie a rope
around the baggage I call life
and take that leap that's
called so laughingly into
a fate,
what could be worse than this?

There are miles in this asylum
left untrammelled by the careworn
who have torn out pages from the book
where holograms were shreds of space
into which their eyes could look upon an
unruffled sane society,
but we gave them LSD and shocked
their systems
systematically.

I have loved those minutes and more the
seconds that lasted for an eternity when
she
that possessed the X-ray eyes could draw
the colours of my aura all around her.

Chaos and
creatures with
distorted features
comic book heroes
dreams of flying,
why in
a minute
when the second is
long?

when there's nothing wrong
there is nothing to right
but we fight against it
and we're right against it
always.
David Jun 2015
The aching behind my eyes.
Passing strangers
and their silent sighs.

I've lost my way
but pretend to know where I'm going.
And I like it this way.
The right path is not worth knowing

We all die eventually.
It's not that sad;
it's no tragedy.
And I don't expect you to care
or to even remember me.

And will I be remembered?
Probably not.
And if in fact you knew me,
you will say you just forgot.
it's late

— The End —