Loud, crazy scramble.
Black symbols
on a deep, green background.
Pan over,
wide focus;
it’s a dress pattern.
Morbid fascinations,
like birds
and skeletons
and trying to build reality
using dream geometry.
Long lines that never intersect,
senselessly impossible angles,
flying buttresses
‘that won’t come down;
they just fly away.
Winged predator features.
Raptor beaks,
razor claws.
circling,
circling.
Madman on the roadside
looks just like my father.
Swinging that old scythe
like time wastes
without distinction
and ravages the body,
the mind soon following.
Treacherous old bitch,
Mother Nature is.
She giveth,
but not really.
We used to be deep,
like children’s eyes.
Eternal,
formless
and unstoppable.
Our downfall was looking backwards;
always a sucker
for pride and its guilty friends.
Turmoil in the bedclothes.
I can’t remember
if we were fucking,
or fighting,
I just remember being hot
and tired
and unsatisfied.
I remember your smile the best.
Tissue paper memories
that tear so easily,
summoned from a steaming mug
of morning invocations.
Straining to make sense
of this waking world.
A moment of dreamer’s panic sets in,
but I remain.
Tiger in a lion’s den.
Treading where I don’t belong.
I can’t hide my stripes,
even in this interesting world.
HG – 2017
