Look into my atomic shadow.
In my purple and reds.

Drop in my subsonic dream.
In my orange and greens.

Walk in my sidewalk shoes.
In my midnight blacks.

Look at my shadows.
Drop in my dreams.
Walk in my shoes.

See my darkness.

in the last century of her life

she returned
in a ship of wisdom and beauty

her entourage of demon hunters
guarded a swarm of hieroglyphics

from a future she had seen

she brought droning strings
of dreams

bridging the time
of her absence
between the first and the final
civilization

i saw her mute smile
radiating the light
of hidden moons

she had passed

her words in a subsonic stream
of childhood memories and

evaporating residue
of the mindwalker era

when pride and rivalry
had made all of man

awestruck minions
of time and space

i felt her ephemeral
veil of tenderness

reverberating our first
encounter in one of those
labyrinthine dimensions
of her starfaring journeys

where she had left me
wandering the ever expanding
orbit of a lonely star

while she was becoming
the supreme shape shifter

descending down
to the surface of our birth
planet and crossing
the eternal echoes
of our minds

[J]

Corrugated tesseracts
Are enlivened under blood gorged membranes
The barrier to a cool coral maze
Of still shoals, the palest pink
Permanent waves folded
Into a frozen tidal sea

And here is the world of worlds
That makes of us, ourselves
A dimension that can't be trespassed against
Where we are always home
Inside spider woven neurons
That talk only to each other
Or to god

They relay their subsonic messages
In penumbral patterns
Translated into dismembered tongues
And ancient relays of concordance
Telegraphing farthest emotion
Into clairvoyant flesh.

So you like to listen with ears that gander..
To the miraculous sound dance upon the veranda
Through a ferocious pound of advanced verbal stamina
Banging out precocious power like political propaganda
Whilst Sanding down atrocious Towers of satirical working man hours
Miles of hanging around with flowers that gave us powers and led us to pipeline dreams
We thought we was Mario and Luigi it seems...
Cross pollination from a hybrid nation
Brought up on Nintendos and playstations
To then sort out endo and thc equations
Buttercups and Daisy chains utter such hazy frames for stutter much wavy brains that pucker up for glazey games...
A beautiful mistress coming with cuticle dizziness can be fruitful in optical misgiving ness
Goddess awareness was always the fairest nest
yet the one I always invest in is high hats and snares
Always there to ingest a rhymes saps and wears
More playful than a caress of sly ******* stares...
Apples and peaches of bums with succulent pears
Meet battle sound features on drums of reluctant fears
Whilst Cattle bound Creatures hum decedent sneers
And Snapple drowned preachers hear irrelevant prayers

Bionic biopics from ironic orifices
Leave subsonic tonics drawn for moronic sonnets...iconic comics form sardonic harmonics for all the polyphonics with bees in their bonnets
As the Flutterbuys scuttle buy you and I as I utter why do the good girls always make me cry
Yet the bad girls get me high
As they wind and grind
with nature's sweet sunset vibes
it's always a pleasure I treasure to take this fair weather  ride
Whereas the good girls just make me sigh and I wonder why I cry when they say goodbye
maybe good isn't something for the likes of you and I
these are the wonders of why try in an age of Wi-Fi
So we'll stick to our fly by drive by guise of rampage rides through each other's insides..

So come and gather at the miraculous sound dance on the veranda
Go run and gather up haphazardous fondants for a poetic stanza
The sun can hammer us with glamorous fragments for a consciousness Bonanza


A break in the pores is a take from the draws  as something is coming to you from a cause
A screed and a scrape off the times the mind's been in need of a gauze
From the marks she adores from her kitty cat claws
From crimes that hear a applause for the kind of sports only a blind horse could  report
So Don't be mortified or horrified for being glorified through a poet's eyes
it means you've fortified the tortured side of a fantasist sky
which is now where you lie as it's hard to deny you've been immortalized….
  Ooh yes see..that is your prize

A subsonic growl emerges
As the red wolf plunges forth
From his concrete cave.
He shoulders aside the weaker creatures,
In his rush, for the men inside
Live for the hunt.
The siren howl is high at first,
Wild and eager, hysterical.
As he gains his stride
On the pavement path,
His whine swings into a rocking pulse,
Keeping time with the fire,
Or the blood spurting from a man.
Behind the pack there is a white dog,
Sturdy and square, trained and sure,
With a lyrical howl.
He keeps pace yet there is no lust
For the hunt, no need for blood.
They circle the waiting disaster,
Disgorging men in black and white,
The hulks rumble as they wait.
Wolves lick up the flames
While the white-dressed men
Lap up the blood.
The wolf prowls as the flames die
But stands guard as the
White dog points to the man.
He has chosen to save.

The bacteria within my clogged nasal passage fight to see the light
My sandpaper throat takes up arms to be heard over the deafening din
Come into the light, she says; embrace what you are, how you look...
Who you seem to be;
But I can't, I don't want to, I shan't.

I turn around, take a step away
Two steps now, my black socks getting dirtier every second,
Every minuscule moment of this pathetically dull existence
Words, spinning within my metaphorical brain
Hurtling around: subsonic, then super
Uncatchable first, incomprehensible now
Raw, wild, honey & dates
Thaw, mild, funny fates.
Intertwined, intersecting
Neutral, calm, unaffecting.

Lo, and behold
The minty phosphorescence of a happy soul
The harsh contrast of a cerulean one, serene and calm
Bells in the distance, tolling
Strolling along a cherry blossom-lined pathway to nowhere.

Light cutting shapes through the dusty fawn net
Reflecting off the velveteen cushion, scarlet
Dancing now, on the sequined gold but torn
gold, but torn
Torn table cloth, snagged by the claw of a domesticated feline.

Tail wagging, agitatedly
Fast now, then slower
Claws exit the sheath
The fire within causing the ringing of multiple high pitched alarms
No smoke to do the detecting
Old bloke, what are you protecting?

Of that old but weary
Old
Weary
Leatherette case, rexine perhaps?
Yes, rexine. You are the rexine of the universe
cheap, spoilt and ugly
peeling off
looking in the mirror at myself
yes, she says, I am rexine.

But no, I am the dancing celestial light of 3 AM,
I am the beginning of a cat's purr.
I am the lost dusty books of an auctioned abbey
I am the last drop of water.

The sky on a bad day,
Clouds gathering
Soap lathering, (Made in France (c))
It says.

I am the 2% navy-dark-ink-pale blue of an underappreciated sunset
Viewed from a filthy beach.
I am the cracked glass in the cupboard that someone has forgot to dispose of

I am the unregistered number plate
the first dry petal of a once fresh marigold
Offered out of sheer boredom, playfulness

I am the sticky key of an old 1989 keyboard
I am the grease stain on your favorite shirt.

I am the betraying exposed underwire of your favorite bra
I am the lost button.

The maybe, the perhaps, the never
The maybe the perhaps, the ever

The gestation period of a tiger, she says
Is 113 days.//

1.

Clutch sinks to the floor
like a drunk mini skirt under a clever pickup line

1st gear gives way
like an occasional lover

Gas feathers in
a subsonic prelude to a ******

Rolling

2.

down our suburban street
where sidewalks bend at the waist
bowing to cracked driveways

My single-minded objective
upended by his scavenger’s mission

Abrupt left
“we must get that free tub”
he says

On the curb
next to the faded plastic batmobile
a rectangular residue of frayed cobwebs and forlorn leaves
“*******”
dangles from his lips

U-turn

3.

tires crackle over loose asphalt
steering wheel taught

turning down the wrong street
bewilderment derails my one track mind

“lawnmower shop”
he says

I’ve known him long enough
not to ask questions

We have an understanding
without understanding

Sun splatters across my forehead
an uncomfortable hot mess
the cracked window is of little comfort
as I await his return

He holds the door for a dusty landscape artist
pushing an unwieldy grass-cutting machine
purring across the street
late for the day’s rounds

Wordlessly, he returns
landing softly on his leather throne
key sliding, kissing the lock cylinder
willing forth internal combustion

4.

Finally the bike shop

Babble on

Woe the subsonic Teutonic bubonic tonic that has corrupted our mainframe. Electronic telephonics be ******