the shape of fire is the shape of orange
the orange of fire is the shape of shape
the form of the form is a constellation
upon which cosmos dangle over
flames upon which flames dance and
upon which smoke creeps and
where candles bloom into bouquets of
melted red and white wax but
it remains marbled, not pink yet
simple addition crumbles apart:
add red and yellow and mix
all you want but they will remain
separate, swirled but separate;
the color orange is the color of candles
the candles of orange is the color color.

Body and flesh with the age of seventeen,
without being loud or angry.
Never been,
the warm yellow light.

Spiraling out of control.
Calmness collapses.
Burning a hole,
in what is assumed to be poured.

Deep pigment,
showering over loved once.  
Yet no commitment.
Daffodils growing in the garden.

Dripping from the ankle,
deep red,
ropes to get strangled.
Melting and mixing orange.

They may not know how i’m feeling,
but if they stop reality,
they see me hanging from the sealing.
“How young was she?”

Peeling skin from a ball
Thick and thin, large and small
Then the juice from within
Sweet and sour, dribbles down the chin

Colour in this vibrant shade
That which monks do wear, are bade
To show their faith to their belief
Shade from the sun, a relief

The sun is seen in this way
As on sunset, on a beautiful day
Close your eyes and spy it within
On the eyelids of your skin

This rich colour that I speak
Is orange, nothing bleak
It brightens up the saddest day
Putting others by the way.

A glass of orange cordial
Sat bored on the kitchen top
Now usually long forgotten
As we children play grown up

Soon after we become thirsty
And return to search our drink
But this time the glass is *****
The cordial not as orange as we think.

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

It was red sand
Dripping through my fingers
Landing on my orange dress

I had been working with clay
Now my hands have grown
To be sensitive and alive

I press my hands against wooden fences as I walk
And to the tree's bark
Rough, under my, now delicate, palms

It was so new
I was feeling something real
For the first time

Clay had become my addiction
Something I could feel and sculpt
With a clear mind

I felt every grain of red sand
Drip through my fingers
And land on my course, orange dress

Loneliness eats me
Like an orange.
Fingernails carving away my skin,
To **** out that juicy pulp of hope
From the outside in.

He called me delicious, but that was lifetimes ago,
Words turning so sweet
They rotted.

I never should have believed him - “I’m
Not just a fruit to be eaten” - that's
I should have told him,
Before these cravings were cultivated. The ones that crawl in
Through the chasms of solitude
Like worms into the pores of my skin.

Because now all I want
Is to be squeezed out
By stronger hands
That make me feel delicious and
Turn my desires
Into the most mouthwatering of juices again.

tearing apart the flesh
peeling back skin
the cold juices
splash your lips as
i watch you undress an orange
wondering
do you love me like this?