twitchy sniffly noses
silky bracelets woven
a sennight of whispers
and soft rains fallen
bones strident ringing
skins slow submerging
bloodshot eyes and
star-shot skies and
cheekbones shrouded
in staling chlorine

sneaking syrup smiles
under honey gold
four tonics drowned
to fight off the cold
and fast fortune-telling
for finites foretold
trace the lines and
face the folds, please
hold both palms closer
but leave them closed

twitchy ditzy fingers
***** rings unspooled
a sennight of stories
and sinking in pools
bones washed in phenol
skins slick like ferrule
bloodshot minds and
star-shot why’s and
wisteria lips speckled in
the warmest shade of cool.

i would compromise
--i compromise. i appear to i mean,
with peace-demeanor customized for show
paraded there and there, obeisant nonsense
in a confidence of meek to render compliments
crowding infancies of all

for the sake of art
i bend my frame about cliche
to have a human dragon claim
"the real persists unknown"
and gather at a sacred dolmen
fascinating morals sung beneath the stars and sun--
you said there was a butterfly
tasting at my skull, shaking with uncommon music too..
its skinny, immigrant feet abuzz
within the world they called a One, wings on pause, my eyebrows in flight.

a blanket iris cries warmth
in clusters hung ripe, filming over all
a native ceremonial, falsepolitik
i pluck at them atop a fence
obscure for comforts masking truth
discarded, found, fashioned
into furniture for candled houses
built with children's sons
where families try to see
a clearing in the warping
mirrors saddled with a dripping time no illustration comprehends
. wooden beams help it rise and dim,
the sunny lie, genuinely fake,
authentic trick of aeons hidden in the true
-- growing young, stemming back
to foil brighter undiscoveries for otherwisely
patient basements full of heirlooms,
sheik dining areas all
nodding over cheap wine we still manage to squint up at nothing at
in apple layers
symbolizing tidy crimes invented ceaselessly,
serving existential voids--
grace, fall, stumble catch
acquired tones of oak or berry--
other fruits would do, or none,
as i still feel
praised by your rejections --
when indifference gains a sweetness
like a novel vengeance won
i am indulging villainy
workshopping staling norms,
garden dark as cultivated loam.
where i am words
mooding intellect to torment,
faun complexity awry

the sun also rises
with the smoke,
staling sweetly
while the coffee drinkers
scatter dewy dawns.
we're smoking your last cigarette
letting soreness seep into
concupiscent sluggish limbs,
as sleep-cornered bedroom eyes
melt their waxy redness
into the cruelty of morning light.
insipid tongues, chapped and swollen,
speak in strokes of satin whispers;
breathy simple silken strands
                                                         ­                                                                 ­                 "you're so soft"
scintillate resplendence
with moth-wing gentleness
to evanesce the daybreak chill.
how i yearn to remain
in between the days,
hazily hidden in the serenity
of our echo-quiet secret place.

Crippled creature broken in ballistic bone fracture about the blind tile,
freckled in blade licked flesh,
back strap shoulder blades quiver gaunt as skeleton wings
sprinkled in splashed satin fruitless reds and auburn oils,
the child’s insides splattered across the stomach of the floor,
limp muscle binding that of bundled circuitry,  
the boy only resembling needle and sticks
a mass of anatomy straightened out in lifeless splendor,
bone splinters clotted in saw dust muscle grindings
the face showered in locks and tangles,
galaxies and embered suns,
tassels golden simmered,
the creature’s hair a mane torn over his black socket eyes,
fierce in ferocity growling,
a monstrous roaring of prideful bangs,
Fallow face and cheek stomped to the floor as a rag
his form splashed about ground and surface.
Skin nearly bleached in cancer cell white,
a body folded as parchment, joints and ligament playing the part
lightless strewn as an idea lost in lifeless.
A white room hollow, muteness staling,
the busting of a boy broken in scaffold limbs torn
intwined amongst netted nerves wound about spindled bone
branched out in checkered blood stain
Shattered arms resembling puzzle pieced wings,
boy bathed in synthetic sunlight kisses,
But a watch crushed in brittle bronze shards about God’s feet

Sitting on the steps of the back porch
A piece of staling bread sour-dry in my mouth
Wondering if there is peace in this evening.

I notice above me sky whales,
Silent, moving slowly, but faster than you would think,
Bellies blue, edges tinted pink.

And suddenly I know which way is west
Because they are gliding away from the darkening pallor
Where the sun set not so long ago.

The air above me is water.
I am looking up into the sea
Where migrating orca mountains
                                        made by breath, moved by wind
Slide from dusk to darkness.

I no longer know up from down, drowning from sighs,
But by God I know which way is west.

I Warrant that thy lack of care
Is bound within a hard restraint,
Bound within thy calloused fist
To disavow convention’s taint.

I Warrant that thy steely eye
Hath fixed upon the prize of yore,
Hath disregarded consequence
In disinterring mankind’s law.

I Warrant that thy wall of pride
Hath steeled thy arm of self regard,
In keeping thy  momentum’s rush
From dissipating conscience hard .

I Warrant that the breath thou breathe
In  staling air of all contrite,
Contaminates the very heart
Of those who roar “Seig Heil” to *****.

I Warrant in the dead of night
When phantoms stalk thy peace of mind,
Incineration souls aflame
Might cause thy yellowed  teeth to grind.

I Warrant that through centuries
These ghosts shall ride thy spirit hard,
And man shall weep in horror when
He looks upon thy cruel regard.

Marshalg
Warrantor to an indiscriminate other
24 February 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Water flows by,
Quietly polite.
Green under sunlight,
Silver at night.

Is that my monarch's head
Shimmering between wakes?
She looks down and kisses Georgian rooftops.
She dives and twists her celestial face.

But as rain falls my monarch distorts,
And in the first snows she poses for me.
And as we celebrate new solstice a hail of thin ankles bruises the water.
Fish dart from them.
Sharp stones bury themselves so as not to offend.
I remember my feet in there...

All the times comes past here.
All the times yet to come.

I cross a bridge and the town's vein is out of sight.
I breathe the smell of ecclesiastical ceremony
And the cut-grass stench of various friendships nurtured and deflowered.
I mimic footprints that I've pounded into the ground.
The same drunk campaign.
I drink the river and become its flavid run-off.

Water flows by,
Timeless in flight.
Not at the front of my mind,
But in sight
As I recross the bridge.

I'm accustomed to its murky silence.
The distant, sporadic car horns.
Avoided emergencies, obnoxious goodbyes.
I hear them all.

I smell fuel emissions and nocturnal suffering.
I taste staling alcohol and summer's fruits.
I see the town that has cradled me.
I pick at its foliage and try to feel something.

I'll remember praying for floodwater.
I'll remember plains and peaks.
I'll remember the wall that can't hold it all.
The long, loud day
And the long, quiet sleep.

This

innocuous, looking,ancient brown
papyrus scroll contains, on every inch of it
wisdom invaluable, rare to find
(we guess)

But
we are relieved of a misery as none has
been ever successful in reading the script
not a bit , even once, hence staling won't help anyone.

So

there is no security risk in keeping it open
in full view of  all, in case someone ingeniously cracks it
we too can rejoice for this miracle, otherwise let us
sit like this, hoping for this winter gloom to somehow end.

All*
we look for is for some  cheer, even someone
with ulterior intentions is fine  , let any one show up
for once, breaking it open letting know what is in there
so precious, is it all we need to rejoice, theory of everything


*any one?

Sirens are wailing,
My very last breath is staling.
A set of eyes pin me down,
Complete with a mock frown.
"Why, it looks like you're in trouble."
My fear seemed to double.
It's just like how they say,
'Your life flashes before your eyes.'
I'm pathetic, aren't I?
I let this person find my weakness while I was blind.
"Now, if I may,"
A beat passed. I'm going to die.
"I shall see to your demise."

If my words inspired such things
As demon's fire or angel's wings
Then the words I'd write might be warring
Like opposing, blood-stained kings
Each word in depth as if a book
The letters soldiers, a chessboard's rooks
With swords that clashed and shields that shook
As hallowed ground was overtook
Such damage or healing my words could share
Each one sweet'ning or staling the air
An angel's kiss or demon's snare
The choice being mine, both side both there
Oh, what effects these hands could bring
From siding with such warring kings
As grounds they shake and swords they sing
With raging fires and beating wings

have you no strength to lift your head from the flames,
that tremble from the flesh where your fingers bed?
and you are drained and you are dry,
and my old and calloused hands will never be satisfied,
with the skin I've molded on top of yours

this clay will never find its way from where they lay,
underneath my chipping nails.

am I trapped beneath the weight of tremulous limbs,
or am I trapped beneath the stench of a staling mind?
come daylight, I will decide

every morning I wake up,
with an aching in my heart.
the bed staling with each passing day,
each day tougher to start.

the silent dawn then comes alive
as I recall words and laughter that rings so true,
as I hug this pillow tighter
wishing it was you.

I close my eyes as I rest my head,
yet all I see is you.
These lips recall fervent memories
of times that passed too soon.

and as I rise with the first gleam of light
and place my feet upon the floor,
I try to walk away from your departure,
as I pace to wards the door.

the day soon ends,
and as I lay again in this bed,
I know i'll wake up the next morning,
I know it'll be the same ache.

I cried for a light, but fell through the floor.
There is no apt description for what I saw.

I had hoped to see the world bend and wilt like dried leaves curling in a brawl with flames.
The green invaded with ash which would take off into the sky.

But I didn’t.

I saw nothing.


Most of the world is empty, and yet we keep ******* it drier.

More food and mass for the black hole which will swallow us whole.

But before all that let me pick up this axe and drain the ****** amber sap,
Let me boil this ancient ones remains so that my tire may roll and my child can have a more sleek-looking doll.

My boots crunch on a shell, the earth is hollowed of life and paved, locked away in a scaly grey crust, tar. Staling the air, cloths and nails too, the air is stuffed with the stuff.


The man locked in the box without any lights knew that there were four walls, a ceiling and a floor.

He knew each step, each corner and crack, but could not say what was written outside, nor how tall or large it truly was. He could not stick his hands in to measure the width of the walls.

He could not see to find the door.


But in the pit the crowd went wild, a fit, ham ****** fight, bodies breathing sparks and singers speaking revolutions into royalties.

Our minds are empty, our fibres are flailing, they’re in the pocket whilst lining them too!

I saw no room for the bribery of interest and the interests of art to cohabitate this mental space.

The music spat out of the drums, and slid off the strings,
The bass drum and high-hat gasping, boom, tick, boom tick.
In-between the breaths, the guitar hovered over the top, whipping the crowd and the bass,
Shaking the earth, already buzzing from the stomps mashing down the dirt.  

I saw no room for silence when the sounds made shapes, and no room for sounds, when silence stole the stage.  

‘We want you’
Cries the buttoned up leatherneck, the premonition of he.
‘There’s room for you still, the war eats boys and ***** out men’
Thats how the get them in.
The next day he called ‘bye ***, ima go fly my flag and wave a gun’. She called ‘Have fun’.
Within three weeks of mud and rot, the boy got shot, face full to flat, wearing a green coat then black. Now there’s an empty place-mat. Just a conversation piece. The sad reminder of an empty chair.


I cried for a light, but fell through the floor
There’s just no justifying what I saw.

‘Don’t let them in, they’re vermin, they sin’
And if you ask what’s the difference between me and him, if you ask why the wall, why the dogs, Why we don’t take steps to emancipate, why anticipate hate when the power of love can overcome the love of power, that is when we reach our golden hour.

Today, I can’t imagine winning tasting so sour.
But I bite the prize and spit it out.

What the hell is everyone really arguing about?

So when they lower their bodies down, saying that we're dying proud, don’t sing our anthem too loud, keep the rhythm but listen, between the drum rolls and bullet snares, you’ll hear the cries of people outside the box. Perhaps if listened to they'll find a door, and shine a light. Maybe we don't all need to fight.