Sunday, May 31, 2009

Collected Writings - 02

"Pale Horse"

blood is drawn - with pencil or with razor?
art is torn - from flesh or from the paper?
the woken dream
the silent scream
the eye that cannot see
the god-forsaken claws that clutch
at him, and her, and me.
the pale horse rides across the sky
round jupiter and mars
it's rider dragging lariat souls
to sow amongst the stars


"psychoactive ramblings"

breakfast in bed
of drippings and dark rye
the wet red curtains
that rim a grown man's eye
the crypto-fascist tryptych
god's eleusian lie
i lay my tendons down to rest
and fall into the sky


"Four O'Clock Chess"

sheltered lines behind wood scales
despite the rolling glimpse of sails
the churning sea has washed the port
with charcoal

and cigarettes with filters pale
smoulder laughter in the mail
which the mailman fails to deliver
on time

the whispered truth of carbon steel
nailed to the karmic wheel
the monkey king has signed
the buddha's fingers

The ground awash with falling hail
Denotes anachronistic trails
And yellow bastards creep like shadowed

The foghorn lights the albatross
While councilmen all double-cross
The mariner, who catches them
their staples

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Speaking of drawing blood with pencils.

I once stabbed my best friend with a pencil.
Stil has a scar to this day.