I'm aware of what isn't, I'm still a peasant, memory's not pleasant,
my brain's not present, I'm in the presence of another's essence,
I'm here with a vengeance, on my mother's breath, I pray for my father's death,

I'm not here for lessons, I'm not here to listen, I'm here with a vision, no goal but on a mission,
lost my soul and now I don't have the heart take make a decision,
the thing about love is that it cuts with precision, if you hate enough you can join the legion,

take a revision, come now, take a test, all the maths in your head, add all the mad in your head, all the sad in your mind filled with education,
the time holds still, you'd rather be blind, not par taking in the anticipation, participating, precipitating without a reason,

you change colours every season, collecting the wreck, wrecking the tech, rolling the tapes until the ends connect, aware what is, but still missing what isn't,

if somebody tried to break your neck, would you help if it was in a way that is considered to be decent ?,
if it was pleasant, would you be the peasant that cries in the absence of his kings presence, isn't that religion ?,


I see, I feel, as if I'm not seeing the real picture, all these scriptures and spiritual teachers whisper, the same, it's now in fashion, to have a passion, to be insane.

if I'm ever back in the region, I'll send a message through the pigeons, a safe passage for the superstition, last page reserved for the delusions, ask hate, if it means the same if you create illusions,

you're prolly havin' a fun time if you're not part of the solution, **** this world, it's just seven continents and one ocean, full of walls, doors that never open,

wage a war but don't show any emotions,
don't heal if it's broken, it's just awoken,
I'm in a commotion, with all these monuments inside of me full of torment, I'm done with answers I don't ever want to question, I'm done with erosion, my veins are full of poison,

I'm aware of what isn't, I'm still a peasant, memory's not pleasant, my brain's not present, I'm in the presence of another's essence, I'm here with a vengeance, on my mother's breath, I pray for my father's death,

I'm not here for lessons, I'm not here to listen, no, I'm not really here to be fed and see. I'm here for the kingdom, when I'm dreaming in my bed, I'm in a prison, talking free, I'm prolly what Polybius was envisioned to be, a random mathematical equation,

something for everyone to see, something for everyone to feel,
anything for anybody who's somebody, but not everybody is free enough to see what i see, in my prison, where i got past the last season, after killing me, after filling me with theories those are prolly my only, I'm so lonely, even in my thoughts, caught in my rot, with nobody to free, you see I killed myself a long time ago, I don't know who I am anymore, before I was sure and now not anymore, I have less and I want more, cashless but I want the store, faithless but I'm *******, so hard to explore, and sooner than later after I explode, I'll still be a stranger prolly a Polybius export, Polybius in my blood, strange things and places I implore, stop wearing those faces, I'm weird enough in my own, I don't want you to own my lore, I'm prolly a Polybius, impervious to imagination, obviously what's obvious isn't how it's all supposed to be, innocence is so vicious, infectious, prolly oblivious, it's my Polybius, so ?

it's a mad world and it grows, it glows in the dark, it doesn't matter how far you run, who you are , how far you are, what you've done,  it won't ask, it's prolly Polybius, no ?

Kathy, lately
birds seem rarer.
Even in the lilacs
where the blackbird whistles,
boughs seem spent.
Foolish men who read their loss in nature’s
always wax too eloquent,
so, while I try to paint
a sense of desolation
in the brooks of heaven and streams of night
(wherever they may be),
I know it’s farce –
an enterprising manufacture making nothing laugh.

I should write nothing,
nothing makes more sense,
although, my darling,
when I mourn for you who travelled hence
(and left me, placing nothing in my arms)
my mind drifts out,
and like a fragment driven by the wind,
I have to write.
I have to wring these vague alarms.
I have to give to nothing something slight.

You are no longer smiling
In the garden stacked with afternoons,
Your skirt above your knees,
Gloating and scorning my wish for modesty,
While roses are sticking themselves to bees
And sun is setting on coffee spoons,
A lifted skirt, your knees.

My darling, now when you never smile
In that garden without a fair,
When those peculiar stretches of petals
Are memories better forgotten, being bare,
I can still see you walking across that lawn
And turning to me with dark, extravagant beauty
And your secret held into you like an impossible dawn.

Knowing you hated me then and hate me now,
Knowing you called me “Horror” for a reason, every day,
What point in writing an elegy
That mourns the spurious and grieves for the grey,
Dissolution of love, the continuity of deceit,
Light in the stocks
And modesty peeping out of your socks

If not to celebrate something more
Than everything you were or can ever have been,
Something more because you made me seem
More than myself and surrounded my heart
With so many somber and beautiful dreams
That life grew riotous
Springing the lids of tombs?

We sailed the sea

In a boat made of ivory,

And we sailed away

Till the thirty-third day.



On the thirty-third day,

We docked in a land;

Crafted by the hands

Of a million slaves.



It was sparkling out

In the night darkened sky,

As the people burned

All their candles away.



Into the sky, the smoke rose

So high to the stars,

And it warmed up the air,

And the jumper I’d worn,

Brushed the floor

As I carried it

Along through the streets.



‘No more ice,

Only water,

Only smoke,

Only steam,

No more frost to freeze

The fast running streams.

No more cold to tear

Your lungs at the seams’

This was seen as the reason

To why they were right,

Not wrong, to continue

To set more fires alight.



’It is good, it is good’ they sang.

They danced round the fire;

The warm got warmer as the fire drew higher.

'No more cold, no more cold.

It has melted away.

We’ll only have summer

For the rest of our days.

Under the orange tinted sky,

We’ll stay happily beneath it.

No more white, snow-filled clouds

That sprinkle around us

Like a shroud.

The smoke has melted the cold all away;

We’ll only have summer for the rest of our days.’

This is what the townsfolk did say.



On the forty-third day

A marching band played

For remembrance

Of the famous Chirp-Chirp birds.

It is thought that they’d flown

Far, far away.

As nobody had seen them

For quite a few days.



Because of the smog

and because of the heat,

They could no longer stay

And decided to fleet

From the suffocating air

And the ash filled, choking skies.

They left while they could,

Before all the flock died.



Now pennies are collected in effort to remind

Of the other kinds of birds that may fly away too;

If they all did that, there would be no bird stew.

So, the people pay their pennies to save the last few.



We had to sail away from this hot, smoky land,

On the forty-fifth day, we walked back to the sand,

Where our ivory boat was ******* at the dock,

And we laughed at the sight of the Chirp-chirp bird flock!



They were perched on the boat awaiting our return

To escape this land hidden safely in the stern.

Without having to fly they could relax,

And just lie back;

They wouldn’t even need to give their purple wings a flap.



We remarked how they were clever,

And we let them stay on board.

Then we planned the fate

Of the Chirp-Chirp bird hoard.



When we return, they will live in little, cramped busy zoos,

Or we may even make them into Chirp-Chirp bird stew.

By Arcassin Burnham


Don't tell me you can't be seen me.....
Cause I did nothing wrong to you,
Stop looking for some clarity.....
Nothing but a piece of residue,

On the ground,
May the lovers be one and found like the grey stone in the elders
Temple while clearly seeing your reflection,
I had no remorse for feeling any animosity,
for me to get away from the human race permanently,
Latching onto nothing that was never real.......
I was trying to bring you along for the ride but you gave on me
Simply for another's direction,
And in the end it was just pure cruelty,
I went into this new world with a cup of tea and broken dreams in
Smoke signals that never were really released,
I swear I told them all that Diamond Valley was real,

Don't tell me you can't be seen me.....
Cause I did nothing wrong to you,
Stop looking for some clarity.....
Nothing but a piece of residue,
I want you,
I could hear them calling for miles to pull me away,
we brand you,
There's no doubt in my mind my life's a mess but I stepped into
Heaven's Gates.

No more love,
No more love.