Forget where to place it all
carve into the top of blood alters
although, one cannot find a chisel that works!
or that one can be bothered with// Ah!
Even though the clothes are piling up
and there are dents in the worlds floor;
some like it when it’s saved
until
the weekend
and blown in through the
mouth, whilst it fights
for air within liquid
costing five ‘pounds’
per gulp!
The pitch you- you’re
squeezing up through the walls
no matter where you’re sat
and what you’ve got
A face looking at you from across the underground train
A paragraph says nothing, even the rats look for gods in the rain
Cars plummet by caring nothing of your thoughts
Where they centre in wild spins through the air somersaulting
Colliding snakes made from your favourite director
The world was never mad – and proves it by the chance to place it all:
And take it all:
In from a smooth place in the grass
or desert
Or black room lit by a giant
dreaming screen
The room plays with your will, rolling a 6
and a 6
and a 6
and an angel
And a 1!
And the avalanches roar in cascade
worthy of your soul and logic
and you walk out to the street rolling your own numbers and shoulders
in your own cup – it grows by giant star –
But it is still
not mad, and no, It never was,,
The splendour of going home
in the peace of neon signs
And the smoke of the city inhaled, by your lungs, once
or twice
(depending on your vice)
bringing us back to zero –
passing up your thigh bone with all the messages
the basement
locked away
for a while…
The words are clear, fleeing from flashing screen to cortex
hastening, and flushing away
Whatever was lost in the gambling room, we reply with a smile;
although death cannot, yet, so he laughs not, before US!
And madness is a choice of joining, and doing
by the time shining behind a moon
made of your humour, tonight…
View from your bed that which awakens from you
without you waking fully, like five roman pillars in front of your window
A floor sprayed with construction work all around you
A balcony where you thought there was just a wall
Opening on the same plane as the statuesque building that
is, or not, on your lawn;
And to your east, a grassy path leading
to a church, enough to wake-
and see it again
Knowing that your room has gone back,
no sun, no darkness, no fireflies in your hand
or mind, no silhouettes,
no choke;
No passers by, no question my friend;
just a question of heat
within your body,
timed to the perfect decibel of your hair
or mine
Singing it out in some room made of nothing but the clarity
of our lost bodies, calling to the ceiling and sky
to mount as much as they wish
Because our arms are suited and dressed
we have come a long way
we have been bored in the pit of dinner parties
and holiday tables
Drank water in the patience of the waiter exploding haha
opened a steak and a vegetable
spewing its guts to time!
Call it what is left in our DNA or night
call it anything but madness
It was created the same way bad food was
chipping paint
without someone
to look out for it…
Horses fly through out the fields
They are my horses and yours
Wind making water fly from their eyes
They are my horses and yours
As they run
But how we see
In the field
That there are no riders
upon their backs
The Edited Man 