Nowhere Man

my feet are lighter than water

and skin

a warm but repetitive thing

gouache spreads, I am riding this light

a dynamic cellular beating lifts and a rush of wing feeds the air

I am the nowhere man

holding the gold with certain eyes, willing the contrast

striking the wrist and peeling the flesh….

kneading morbid thought in silver fists

I AM

pulling grass with smiling ivory

cracking twigs and ribs

knowing

in the desert

in the centre of coral

in the midst of leaking heat

my feet

are lighter

than water

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Limestone

 

take this acute experience

let it bite

let it sweep your starry walls

and penetrate your knowing,

feel the smart lift your brow,

and s t r e t c h your M O U T H

the choir has begun

…….limestone is cold and discerning…….touch it

this is an exceptional opportunity

stay keen and original

take the hit

make the jump

slide the tunnel

your skin

this is it

take

it

Feed Me

 

bitter

relish

laced with ginger

seasoned with touch

oooh

a particular sensation

a wordy specimen

a salty feeling

extracts my sea, refining a musical plea to excite and behold

YOU

excellent human

discernible beauty

even though the water may be brackish

and the milk sometimes tasting of Garlic

I love you

to hang here

to perceive

experience

to partake

to enjoy

natures circular bounty

a grain on your tongue is a star in my mind

almost too bright to behold in the mouth or otherwise

I am inclined to grasp

to wallop in a gobular smackering of appreciation

admiration

affection

in exchange for bread and insight

my leaning is toward

thick energy

I easily undergo persuasion

apprehension is only a sensation

I suffer and bask in acute suggestion

I am lazing

in the hammock of digestion

in your

BELLY!

 

 

The Swan

 

I am

blue-white

brazen and hopeful

with wrinkled

fate,

I stop time

and drown the moon

dust I am

remote

enlightened

musical

my eyes are wet

my sword is drawn

I turn to you

with purple dirt upon my face

I am the swan

of fairy tales

my neck is soft….

feathers

and

blood

the stone beneath me speaks in volumes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stealing People?

 

To ‘steal another woman’s man’…

The phrase is old and unreliable

it reeks of guilty blame

and shying away from responsibility.

 

Stealing; a concept seen cleanly when

speaking of chocolate and cheap jewellry.

Woman; a word associated with shame.

 

The guilty party is not the stolen nor the thief

but the water upon which the woman states her

ownership,

the mobile depths

the lack of firmament.

 

Stealing a man indeed

whoever heard such rubbish.

 

But what speaks here?

 

The use of abstract to deny the fact; the reality of pain in this world of grey matter.

Does it?

 

Matter I mean, really… DOES it?

Do we kill the abstract also, with our guilt.

Our need to claim, to drive our stake through someone elses heart?

 

It’s not as though I picked him up and put him in my pocket,

then scurried home to get him out

and thrill at my bold action with delight.

 

Or do we make real the theft

by doing just that in our lonely mind?

 

Is the purety of experience lost

in the hackles of a jealous thought?