Thursday, April 21, 2016

April 21, 2016

Miniature seconds devour future souls
a paper fold declares, "truth behold"
a splintered eye
a hang nail
bite nails
we're all nervous
don't know which way to look
when crossing the road
sentimental briefcase
second hand basket-case
that weathered man wearing a territorial cap
glares through nostalgic frames
and glistens
through his breath
defensive whisper, "what a beautiful day", under the nasty tongue
inevitable sun rises
the banshee is accurately predicted to resurface
cling to the moons sleeve
please don't leave

please don't leave

5 of the 7 earrings are lost
and so we start again
void of an end
pro silver

the morning shall bring
sequin dresses in damp dawn grasses
black tease panty hose resting limp on bedroom floors
chammomile tea


Sunday, April 3, 2016

March 31, 2016

Two men in the distance are sitting on a park bench, Kelvingrove, Glasgow
The two are dressed in a sort of fisherman-thrash attire
One younger and in scraggs of black, neat around the edges, refined rebellion
which claims, he rocked the cradle but now the baby sleeps

The other man, old and weathered from slated rain and liver pangs
is sitting in a 'rightfully so' position, wearing a matured sandy brown and pea green
plaid hunting fleece and a brown lambs wool ear flap hat
he nudges his mate, as the girl draws nearer from the distance
and he locks her down with his timeless busted confidant gaze

old slated man stands up in the midst of an isolated beam of sunshine
flogging her attention with his severe charisma

she takes her headphones off, offering her attention
unknowing if there will be a heckle or an enticement

his bottom jaw hangs heavy, his gold grill glistens
and he sings

"with your long blonde hair
and your eyes of blue
the only thing I ever got from you
was sorrow

"Aye, David Bowie it is! That's David Bowie!" he banters with pride

she looks at him with a talcum smile
grabs his historic plaid arm
stares him dead in the eye
and says,

"Thank you...Thank you for that"

he stands quiet for a split second and smiles
then sits down and continues to roll a fag with his pal

and she walks on

with reassuring tones of unwashed tales and a melody in mind


Sunday, December 13, 2015

Red Psych Side Thoughts

Hop skip jump
acid wash jean jacket done up
button to the chin
collar pop
acid wash
weed repellent
daisy wash
forget me not
tell me my future
don't paint a picture
wet oil paint you try to hard
too pretentious
in need of patience and appointments
bad parking and lazy receiving
haute couture wrapped in delusional linen
leather decisions
white paint predicaments
like my old blue fish Fantasy
I was sure every morning
he ate breakfast with me
whether it's true or not
whether it's true or not


Saturday, August 1, 2015

The plateau is not against you

Cliffs are futuristically extinct
edges, peripheries and show offs
anarchists and/are celebrities (and vice versa)
vis a vis
the act of waving, coming or going, has become a permanent motor skill, 
like an endearing treacherous tattoo boldly and passionately saying
eviction at a time 
no regrets 
HANDS UP empty your pockets and spread your wily mind so truth can come clean
massive fine
specialized lover has to wait, age, change shape
ice age 
bleak alley waste haze
shock cremate
To begin with
fine sand fondled and sifted through a strangers fingers
blown glass reminiscent of venus in double vision stack upon one another
records the fallen sediment
a re-accuring penalty similar to a hog tied roof rack 
on the hood of a crimson crass convertible
a 4 cylinder red fire bird in the moonlight 
burned out at the brims 
taken for granted is real
dust in the wind burns out with a blaze
won't cause a crime no more
the consequential shadow becomes hotter then the disappointment felt towards the lazy

yes old and set in ones way but there is rev after the most sour infection
chances are not numerical
but limited editions
bidding at an extremely high minimum



This time is coming/ telescope/compass/ wind in sail/ be strong/ cry whenever you need to

Allow change
batten down the hatches
and release the rib cage
expansive treasure chest
reveal your cardamon potential
digest every northern gust of wind taunting you with guilt
high quality aura
tea with the last bumblebee
virgin morning everyday at dawn
breakfast with Lover and Black Eye
civil wild cats
ghosts are matter
and have needs
just like the rest of us



Loneliness in raw denim thrashed against a rock for hours to soften

To be lonely
loneliness is an off balance
a misfortunate blame
an unidentified super natural stake
which can leave one feeling the same sickness as any other equally severe hospitalized speculation
cloudy head
long drawn out stares
high security gated community
a strata of daily narrow minded solutions
in most cases a decent man made rabbit hole
or advanced trespasser
will eventually rip their commited and consistent industrial thread denim
and feel a sense of loss which leads to another sense of realized having
and then at the climaxed bond between the lonely and another thing
there is something
deep down in the grotto
in the damp musty dwelling of the least
there will be a phosphorescence of ease
and inscription of form and hue embedding deep into the weave of the yesteryears
a family album which declares
it is you who chooses to
look at the minimal
as less
or nothing
or only the lonely

Times void will not last forever
therefor try to refrain from pannick
but first let pannick and fear and lack of air devour you
befriend the darkest most rigid fury of pain
and then betray it
and slay it
like the oldest transcribed depiction of salvation
the most massive explosive acknowledgment of victory
recognized through the beautiful simplicity of a thread which hangs on to your body
with everything its got
there is always something holding something else together,
and it always should matter.


White Detached Conservatory

surge across
the pines
the wind is merely the aftermath
vaulted skies
synthetic tarp
the synthetic tarp barks!
well kept dog in the distance
tries daily to be free

lesser mythological cabana
house dream
white shack vamped
broke lamp
questionable camp
grounds are bleak says one
there's a quartz leak says the other

All the way down the dusty road
to meet at a dead end of faded white linen
blazing red embroidered tampered tantrums
temperate contours in the night
with ease, a lizard in the kitchen