Tread the bourgeois carpet
of 5000 feet
caked in airmiles

Enter the ornately crafted
nondescript facade
passed the chap in the tall hat

Rank and file -
standard issue pleasantries

Sign the guestbook
of illegible memories

Acclimatise to the room
of temporary devotion

devoid of belonging
or emotion;

the ruthless economics
of designed practicality

The impending ideology:
that what you pay for
you dont get to keep

That nameless hotel
dressed in uniformed vulgarity
is the fourth to be welcomed
as Home this week

It's blistering hot
Here in England
No time to
Acclimatise

crawl inside of my body,
navigate through all the broken bones,
acclimatise to my blood to make me comfortable,
and find the delicate part you like about me.
then set it on fire.  
i like it when lovers leave scars.

I put up with a lot, I confess;
I weather your obscure temperament,
Play host to ill humour.
I contend with mild distress and
Acclimatise to vagrant glance and
Occasional digression.
But I hate how this turned out,
I hate that he's a fool, a
Common antidote to your exotic
Poisons.
That he bears no ill will, that he
Treats me as nothing more than
A footnote in your powdery tome.
And I hate how he is right to do so.

The day imploded
came rushing in to remind me that the night
was but an amalgamation of those minutes
that pin the eyes awake.

I take two moments to acclimatise
unpin the pins pinned on my eyes
and the fading of the fading light finally fades and dies.
I look with infra dead between the lines
and intro sped along the times when all was well
and now it disappears into the room of absented fears
French leave for the grieving and believing I am one of them
the lonely buttered crusts of men I go on
and into further there where the sharp words cut my feet
and bleeding sorely thus I greet
the men to whom that I would speak
of better days
who in their ways have sold a million memories
to hang up on the blowing melodies that seem to crow at me
and if I listened carefully
would say but few words dolefully and this before the breakfast laid upon my lap
the dripping sap
another buttered crust
any yet another dream that turns to dust
but in the cream jug where the poison lies and remnants of the dying light prefer to hide and sit upon the milky way
the lay of it appeals
in laying down something unreal can steal this mind of mine
and use it in some future time to come
cryogenic
hallucifrenic
and I am going down the tubes
before the slide that carries me into the beginning of my darkest day
I say,
'if I would walk a second,fecund and mount the insurmountable'
would I be accountable to myself or to those crusty men?
and to the lady,she who knows where this road goes and leads me to its ending
in the twist and bend will you defend me
fight for and lend me strength?

What is the length of illness measure
what treasure does it hold and
and what on being told the answer
would I answer in return?
The fever of the brow and how the body burns
and burn in turns like you
and we together
would we be forever
severing all ties
even as the fading of the fading finally fades and dies
and can you tell me
can you tell
can you
can.
A crusty buttered dusty battered and man to whom that nothing mattered would like to know
before I go.

Being great at something,
it doesn't make it any easier.
In time perhaps you might
accept it, and acclimatise,
being a good soldier,
it doesn't necessarily make it easier
to shoot your opponents down.

Being great at something,
it doesn't make you immune to pressures.
Nor the mock and ridicule.
There is a lot to consider,
when being great at something.

She understood
Twisting the rusty tap
Trickling water to sprinting flow
Woooosshhhhh
Gravity pulls the earth's hydration intently with purpose
The tub fills to the brim
You pour a coconut-smelling, cheap bodywash
Not even bath gel
It foams and bubbles
Shiny, sparkly, spherical
You're now eight again
Excited by novel luxuries

Room temperature vs the bath water
Your foot burns as you put it in
Acclimatise foot, acclimatise
And now the total dip
The complete embrace of hot water

"The longer I lay there in the clear hot water the purer I felt"
From the Bell Jar
I relate

We could have a kind of farm,
I suggest,
With a little shop attached,
We could make jam and lemon curd,
Maybe chutney or,
Other things in little packaged jars,
I could bake things,
You could sell paintings there too,
We would only grow vegetables,
And fruit,
We would cook things with love,
Labour the earth with love,
Live together in love,
I feel sure that I could work the soil,
I have always felt an uncertain hard need in my bones,
To give something back to Mother Nature,
And I grew up in the country,
So I feel sure I would acclimatise,
But it is only a fantasy,
A sort of a story,
Even though it does sound nice either way.

More and more rooted in the night
claimed by dreamtime.
Your days get shorter as you acclimatise
- to the great passing on from this life.

Turn around as the moments pause
as fullstops escape a rooted fool
watching the admiration melt
those words that flow to silence
from a ****** to the verified meanders
every time now and again the bitter taste
acclimatise the altitude of my brains
far beyond any bearable responses
of the tiny tiny teases and leases

The rope is stricken in handheld tickets
roaring as the rocket of emotions pocket
sirens picket setting the rotten resistance
one that is quieter than the quiet quoted
as the phrases evaporate in misty clouds
remnants of sweetness decant unknown
the pace slows and the taste envenom
painting the blues in a pungent smile

Go for the flower of the Cactus
reach so much further than a Rose
life is a desert, so acclimatise.
Reaching through her thorns
to collect the prize.