Amongst the trees of see
Patterns
Abstract shapes
Of you and me
Syncing
Not sinking
Breathing with ancestors hearts
And forever bathed in light of a perpetual dusk
Often muting
Always mutating
As life sets in your eyes
with occasional death on your mind
And nothing but love on your lips
You make me see
Through the sea of trees
When you wake you’re still in a dream, he said to himself.
That was way way back, one early morning,
when only the night remained,
and all daytime was stuck in his dreams of his life awake.
A piercing, white blizzard had arrived, and everything familiar had all but vanished.
That’s all Joel had noticed in 3 seconds of eye-lash laden observation, shortly before his body yanked him backwards; his deadweight dropping him to a soft land.
It seemed for a while yet, he should remain foetal.
And you walked in
Like you owned not the place
But the place that you’re in
And you sailed through
Like your heart pumped the waves
When the waves needed you
But now
Im not so sure
On these stories told
When you think you know more
And want less
As you grow old
The bizarre kettle-shaped spaceship, suddenly turns off its powerful engine of raging bubbles. Now, both young boys listen intensly, to the slow, muted, thud of footsteps… from the creepy bottom step… to the agonisingly close and creaky top step of the stairs.
But it’s soon after those footsteps stop, after the deathly silence they create, when something that sounds as light as a balloon, and travelling in the unnatural breeze of the night; bumps innocently light, then mysteriously heavier (again and again) onto the exposed floorboards of the landing.
Luke (the younger ) suddenly remembers that in the most recent past, he had found ‘the landing’ very confusing, because nothing that he was aware of… until now, had ever landed there.
“Did you realise Deidre, that gin is little more than vodka with added flavours?” said Lars.
(He was the new barman)
Deidre didn’t realise.
She slurred, “Am-alergit-te-too–mudge-voka!”
Lars immediately felt the job wasn’t for him.
The whites of her eyes trembled like approaching dual headlights in heat-haze.
Each pinkly foot all a blur; cradled loosely by a pair of slip on cups; adjoined by two nonsynchronous shotguns; lock and loading; firing her across the nightclubs remix of slip and adhesion.
Her slight outline; disappearing/reappearing; a visual offbeat to the paparazzi furore that follow her with discord; some giddy travel through extra-terrestrial lights of seizure.
To a close country border,
Fire doors! she cried, unlikely to be heard… or in thought.
Now here is the swing and hinged odds; potholed by scattered youth with inebriated limbs; blotted by dazed fireflies that danced in the smokes.
Surrendering to official air, the same air that blows your sweat gently across your neck into deltas on your chest, only reminiscent… to be felt.
When gravity falters, this Mother Earth is momentarily off her axis.
Her daughter follows one snaking line of shy neon; in and out of sight, forever smaller, staccato, in black, can paranoid be the night?
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s lay in bed slightly longer, and nearer together.
Hello, how are you?
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s decorate the house in pleasure.
I’m just fine thank-you!
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s be blind to age and be young forever.
And how are you?
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s plan our holidays and remember the last endeavour.
I am good… thank-you!
Hey! Mr Thingmebob! What are you?
Oh I’m similar to you Miss Thingmejig, that is… you are my only clue.
That’s nice! but not useful, I need to know more!
Ok, you’re something forgotten that somebody left before.
Soothing… how charming that I fill that void, really though, i’m less than buoyed!
Listen, we’re something! stick with me, in our confusion… we’ll both be happy!
