Matter disintegrates,
flying objects dissolve back into insect forms,
to try and fathom the ill will of wandering parasitical urchins,
bar brawlers,
an incomprehensible mould has latched on to the beards of the Sedentary,
Lieutenant horoscope and his band of merry men
have fourteen times predicted the tumultuous reckoning,
where the lizards roll back into the cracks and breed with the *** butts.
dancing to a birdsong the most irritating,
chirp and roll and sit under the black azure,
swimming into the cataracting waterfalls of black sludge
accompanied by the ale bellies of ancient degenerates,
and linger in the neon lit sarcophagus dreaming of finer things,
with optimistic party poppers at the ready.
I spoke to high priest of white linen table etiquette,
he offered me a drink of the green elixir,
the taste of rancid sherry,
and I spoke to god almighty,
he had a few problems,
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ he said to me, the transcendent agony aunt,
so I gave him my spare change on the matter,
but now I’am lost in the ominous eternal skies,
like a haggard bird who is unable to land,
debasing all the relics,
I flit through the dark clouds and nearly perish in the ice rains,
I have caught a chill,
but, nevertheless, I float on, consuming the velvet sunsets and chirping my songs over insignificant mole hills,
All the time battling what the hermit astrology told me was a zinc deficiency,
One day I hope to bathe in the tranquil silk waters,
with a cup of tea and a biscuit,
find salvation and give inconsistent childhood memories a cuddle,
but now is not the time for folly dreams,
I must continue into the delirious horizon,
and listen to the sounds of hidden amorphous beasts writhing in agony,
because I fear I have picked up the cosmic bar tab,
and played gin rummy with all of heavens problem children,
the splinters of the sour harvest caught between my teeth,
lost in the gloomy overhang of the sleepless willow,
trying to glue the atoms back together with my prit-stick.
In the cool, pearly nights, I dream of lands without contours or maps,
and I can make out, in the grumbling silhouette, what was once someone’s memory,
the flies are circling the diseased dog along the sun scorched path,
the stitches of his wounds tighten in the heat creating sores,
A white hot, stiff, agony,
the trees are out of breath,
the expanse of the moment, like an endless ocean evaporating, is too much to bear,
I melt into the cracks,
and the mountains and planets drip with me,
matter disintegrates as we surrender to the ferocious will of the ineffable gloop,
but then a painful shriek rings across the sky,
the sound of metallic pink,
A byzantine woman sits below a fruit tree complaining of belly gripe,
I find myself inexorably drawn over,
moving fluidly through epochs, across galaxies, funnelling myself through volcanic fissures,
permeating day dreams and two way mirrors,
riding in the bellies of celestial giants and on the backs of mythical locusts,
creating my own rivers and waving goodbye to the misanthropic tribesman,
When I find her - there is nowt but silence,
her presence reminiscent of a glass lake with blink-less eyes,
I delicately pluck an apple from the tree, the most exquisitely green one, and hand it to her,
‘Cheers mush’ she says, in an earthquake monotone,
and with a wry smile and a nod I head off on my way.