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
Im not so sure
On these stories told
When you think you know more
And want less
As you grow old
I thought i could hear something in a song once;
When my radio tuned itself in to sing to television.
Only, television phoned in, needing a show to see how it was written,
Ruining the whole near damn perfect experience… for the sake of entertainment.
I awoke to two drunks singing
My peace stinging like lost bees sipping honey
I was gonna vent
But alas I had no bucket of shit to fling
As distance intervened by sleepy syringe
Being emptied of any fuss
I dreamt heavy
So unable to navigate with a bus
He didn’t sing naturally to their tune, because they lacked all the right notes as he entered the room.
The traffic rushes by
Like the memories in my head
And the day is upon me
As soft tyres lose their tread
All the roads blur smooth
Like yesterdays future news
And the day is upon me
What rushes is still in cruise
All i know is…
And all you know
is what i show
In the here and now…
Show me the precise moment;
when your unfamiliar sky is at its exact height to which you can now call it sky.
As the unrest in the clouds
representing thoughts of an entire planets inhabitants clear; to reset control.
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.
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?
Now that being there; is now always near
And since then where have we’ll been? –
By the fridge near that bridge…
Leaning on the ridge of ‘Decorated Windowsill Hill.’