if only for the upkeep of the urban myth, as to see
the light in a dilated pupil
encrustin the ghetto iris
of the sight of three but some would
argue four colours:
that of brown, blue and green,
and the last: grey...
and how the copper skins too to agitation,
because there was no identifying polar opposite...
and when opposites were the norm
and we had gilfriends and we made them
mix-tapes... and they would later
tell you about: that time
at oxford circus at 5 a.m. before marks &
spencer opened and i had this mix tape
you made me, and it had king crimsons'
song epitaph tattooed on it...
or what later became (that funny switch
your brain turns into looking for words?
that's a thesaurus)
pensive drunk or rodin's worth of being pensive
being sculpted?
hence the multitude of actors!
who made so much tosh that **** had to be born;
yet
to have lived the most
"unbelievable" life necessary, to have been
as necessary as a hammer, if anything...
i wonder what life the man who made beer could
have be bound to in orff's o fortuna equivalent...
what could ever resemble a tattoo if not poem?
hidden, out of sight, dare recognise the imprint:
dare you lose your sight?
i ask because i bow,
bau... matters of welsh influence
on these icicles worth as isles...
for worth of a better history fetish:
edward the confessor does more for me than
the myth (or what later becomes a century's worth
of care) of arthur... i have absolutely no reason
to state that to be an omnivorous fest of ego...
luckily we have this unit that can be magnetic outside
of psychology, and outside of fictive narratives and
applied to reality... i'd state
genghis khan and carnivores...
buddha and herbivores...
like i'd never write fiction because i cared too much
for any existing "sensibilities" acquired or in line
with the staged attire of the times...
indeed, the holy spirit is a construct that's most
unstable in the holy trinity,
the fraction that's most unstable and polymorphic,
it took 20 x 100 years for it to be faded,
too much vogue errupted...
to much change...
and what ensued was a desire
for stability.
if that ever helped.
i like the thought of having made a mix-tape
for a girl and she told me she listened to it
at circa 5am on oxford street going to work
to mark & spencers, and that the song was
king crimson epitaph, and that oxford street
was akin to a graveyard at 5am...
it was all about making an indentation,
wasn't it?
too small, too subtle and otherwise
too lazy to encourage reciprocation...
too great?
i'm thinking seagull papa and seagull mama
regurgitating food and doing an equivalent of
**** *** into the gobs of their chicks.
