Human Delusion

His beliefs were like a fireworks display of the mind. All fizzle and cackle in the moonlight dreams of what never was.  Delusions that circumnavigating facts would get you reality, which was not enough. Having achieved the goal, she’d feel finished.

There was here and there was over there: The picnic in the singing time. Dreams of a place you could so casually remember as if it was perfect when it wasn’t. Why couldn’t the sunshine just be sunshine? Sometimes I feel I have to put pen to paper to feel as though I can write at all.  To breathe and

Trade in my toys and Rapunzel’s and live amongst the branches where people already abide and try to swallow up what they have to say without spitting it out.  Love is a promise nobody ever made. I catch images and now just taste them for them-selves before they evaporate forever, I can’t hang onto what I value the most anymore, it has to go for a walk and never come back. It’s disappearance a gesture that something meant something at all.

Night and Day

Hiding in your dreams, buried in the avalanche of collapsed stress rose up your half-self without its other part, which had always been like amber wrapped around an ant. Time slowed down and said hello and took away your clothes. Hideout and seek, they make memories out of daylight

The under-lit world was a place to see things clearly: Asleep in your undisturbed room emotions just rise to the surface. Fastened and bound into the syntax of your own sleep; little pieces of there and here and nowhere came gliding through. Your personality always felt sandwiched in, pressed between the walls of memory closing in around the present tense. Now under your dreams you at least feel free. Is your bed an incubator of madness? Old people and a conversation with a Bus Driver where you actually felt connected. Words pour through your mind as if they weren’t pushed. As if you were growing time between your ears like an antiquated hobby, it followed smoking. Shame had no place so things moved smoothly: A tidy honesty, not the stupid drunk explosions to be exposed elsewhere 48 hours later. Violins and Dreams, sadness curdled up to be a potion that only your head could up with and swallow; this is the speedway to ecstasy   

  

I leave no fingerprints here. They wont find me. I’m on the bedrock, the backbone, the memory gland or whatever the real thing is called. At the bottom of my consciousness I can finally breathe, the oxygen of my uninterrupted head, but enough fishing, it's time to wake up   

The Thwarted Maelstrom

The balloon out of the magic of time, a sideways glance at them and they are us and we’re staring at ourselves.  Tiredness enthrals and time stands still but everything is moving. Lengthways he knew what he was doing; lengthways she ran out of the house in her mind. The balloon sidesteps the other wise clarity in the air, interrupting the day with the blue that out-blues the sky which went grey an hour ago.  Whirl in the mystique of time is this blue balloon; the mystique something we don’t understand but can explore, the balloon upsets the balance and sticks to the moment like a bad stain.  The kid here has a face that says ‘don’t give away where I got this from’, fun is a secret now and she’s not blabbing where she got this little piece of blue fun now and not next week either. ‘Run along adults, this is all mine and it can go about its day with me along by its side and I don’t give a damn if even the Earth complains.' Shards of sky fell into this kids eyes and she spat them out as a gift for the entire world to see. Rudeness in this place was a gift, something genuine out of the mist of contrivance and false-talk; you can’t wrap up spit so she let it fly from her mouth, an act of love not contempt that burst merry on the stage-scene of this frustrated landscape that needed to be disturbed by laughter.

Avalanche

The tears of 27 years throw down your hands and make love to me. Be my companion in the setting sun. Lonely and adrift out here amongst the deaths of intimacy with your melting ice cream. I'm all yours and set me on fire before going. Crying out and running out of time from somewhere deep down from the place that no place in polite conversation. Horrible things do not seem the problem; it is the absence of good things that is the problem.

The Colour of Love

She made marbles in the sunshine all day. Mixed up with the colours of the sand and the tears ran across the sand to meet the blood of a stranger and made love. The language of all the strange was incommunicado to everyone say making marbles across the beach.  The beach stank of other peoples tears all dried up the sun. Everybody thought if they kept crying someone would come and save them. The colour of love was unmade in the sands of time. Time carried nothing to them; there were no magic bottles with little messages pleading for help and to give them a purpose. The purpose lay on the beach in the hands of the marble makers. She took out her eyes and cleaned them and put them back in and saw what was happening and took out a pen. 

Imaginary Woman

And I wanted your words and I wanted the mouth that went with them and I wrap your words and my desire up into a bundle and hand them back as a gift. I like my emotions like I like my coffee, virulent as the taste in my mouth of the memory of you and a shudder like your words that shout through my stomach. Your face rang out through me calling me back to the amber nectar of a dream and wherever you may be, a daylight robbery brought into the midst’s of my mind by a death filled loneliness and we are back together in the attic of my emotions which crawled away with you into the sanitary cave and make up rumours about a myth.  Desire seems to bleed inside out blending in with your day-to-day life.

I caught the last bus to a dream and found my way back home aboard the vestibule of a donkey that cried beneath me wanting to walk side by side with me. That cat in the lonely land no longer smiled and was no longer pleased to be mad and bid me adeu across the lonely night sky continually inferring me on that ‘holidays have been cancelled here’. Now the night-time has come to an end but I can’t switch off my craving dreaming’s which terrorise helpful strangers at the edge of this morass of dark sand at this crossroads to I know not where. The cat bites of lust are all over me, but it’s ok you cannot see them. 

Mirage

Ghosts too can go on loving the living without them ever returning the favour. I have devoured my skeleton for a delusion. Come and find me when my silliness has devoured itself and I have started again. Who would have thought silliness could be so serious eating its way up through me with its games. Roll marbles over my emotions. Sparkling stars fuse out the quickest. Now I have only to grow flowers in the wilderness. I’m swimming to the bottom of the ocean so I can breathe again. Time tiptoes around every minute squealing what wasn’t. Daftness slapped in the face and seeing what I want is always somewhere else and not a place I can move too. Say hello to who I was yesterday if you ever see him again. The landscape out here is cold but the screams of my stomach keep me singing under the facade of my smiling face. Coming home to who I really am and the finally death knells of wishful thinking, well maybe.