Mind the gap
For there is a place
A slit in time
With an empty space
Sending you through
In a unknown direction
Travelling sideways
To another dimension
Mouth it clearly
But don’t make a sound
Commute this
The London Intheground
Tag Archives: Surreal
Laughing in my Sleep
I took shape… I was like a dolphin with endorphins… an endolfin maybe,
and all the while, somebody was flying around at ground level;
on a rolled up gym mat.
Yet, the children walked by, never blinking an eye; it was the only thing they could do whilst getting lost in the playfields.
It was then, when i had returned; waist deep in pond water; lifting a sorry flower from the aqua; reminding me of intricate, unfolding origami, it bloomed instantly in my wrinkled palm.
Oh… me and the encompassing crowd,
we barked and clapped like a close knit colony of slow-motioned seals; high on friendship and wonder.
Tour Guide
“Those are the sounds of your body-fat dissolving under the piercing heat of this sun!” he said; the tour guide not realising if there was anyone actually there… yet to come.
The Face in the Dirt (in the Festivals Field)
The face in the dirt in the festivals field
Has always kept quiet, never been revealed
The face in the dirt prefers lying low.
Only appears where grass doesn’t show.
One eye is on the clouds, the other; passers-by.
Never communicates, doesn’t even try.
Drinks from beer spilt and other revolting fluid,
Gobbles dropped food out of view from a steward.
A peeping tom from experiments gone wrong,
The face; never has said cheerio, so long!
It may be under a tent, where someone’s sitting,
Under you’re porta-loo with the smells emitting.
Maybe it’s just enjoying the music, the atmosphere.
When you tell people, make that abundantly clear…
And have a nice time!
Doppelganger
Someone out there,
Identical to you; in every possible way,
and you passed them in the street, unnoticed…
Only yesterday…
Oh well.
Rising Fall
Losing my grip now,
and so gravity ensures
my future’s prescribed.
Gently tumbling;
prolonging,
buoyant;
like a fleck of fresh dust.
How structure and design
now discards me;
to unearth odd ceilings;
calmly engage my feet;
on hovering,
flirtatious,
ground.
Field Ban For Rocking Horses
Only real horses with real legs allowed!
The signs, at the field, ordered, as the wind howled.
The rockers rocked slowly; utterly devastated.
Being fed a downright lie; their field was so highly rated.
In their fury they rocked hard and rammed the signs down.
The real horses while shitting; fled, galloping to town.
The field was now theirs and everything was great!
Until the towns-folk arrived with rusty saws and spiteful hate.
A long, calamitous battle commenced in which nobody won.
Then the contractors arrived…
Firesky!
At an aggressive speed
I was losing my way
I was feeling so alive
Seeing what could never be
The atmosphere burned red
And so I thought of what will be
…from now on
I noticed then what I never see
Chrome slithering roads and bloodied sky
With all moistures weeping in blue
Rolling, cruising, endless
On and over flattening mountains
This is what I’m telling you
Those slow buildings in green
I’ve finally found out what I almost lost
And sensed what I had never seen
All around while dissolving out
Through and into the Firesky!
New Old Woodlandia
Earlier, you found yourself at an edge of woodland; you stood at its beginning or its end, you couldn’t begin to tell.
Impatiently, the trees blurred together, all around you, trees branches holding others that spun ever wilder, entwining into an eye-shattering carousel.
In the loop, you do not know or fear the time it takes for the motion to slow, winding down, tired, the branches let go, clumsily flicking leaves at each other, like young children; engaged in dance, then distracted, but always pure and in play.
You, look around you with your peripheral vision desensitised, you were somewhere else, just left of wherever’s’ centre; you could breathe deeply, consistently as one; with a carpet of mimicking leaves.
Now, feeling so spongy underfoot, you’re subtly falling and rising, falling and rising in exact time with your steady pulse; you were now at the heart of everything.
Today, I Buried the Car
Today, I buried the car under the garden, or enterrer la voiture sous la Jardin; it makes no difference to me. As I sit on its corroded roof of raised ochre paint and brushed steel. By coincidence, I sit at sea level to distant oceans that are full of old weather and distress.
I know there is never a sea that’s forever as level as this laid lawn, and so I recall, on purpose I left the engine running. So it is that I’m repeated to fade as time delays the dream in which I sit, statuesque, waiting on my cars dented roof, for something to erase what I didn’t mean.
Then, suddenly the car drives through the soil, searching for oil. I’m destined to travel with it. With consummate ease, I’m driven forwards, for I assume that is where I face, and above an underground road, with all speediest motion of the most stubborn small hand of a basic clock, through terrain as varied as the subconscious memories of the recent dead.
My progress never slows until I discover the edge of this world dissolving like an old cake from age, churned from its constant turning. Now I’ve slipped into another world, of some sense. As I arrive, seamlessly through a subtle zipped window, I’m suddenly driving through dull traffic, so dense; with the clumsy authority of a process mounted car on set. I’m steering the wheel, it’s looser than I imagined, it’s no use, and the scenery is a little disjointed from the direction I steer in. Maybe the next world will find me before I find it! Or before I find the brakes.
I Eat Let.ers 