Bruise berry

Bruise berry eyes
Dark brown ignorance
Craving sunlight revelation
Caving in to fool emptiness

A complete fabric
Wizarded
Plant of apathetic tears
Fallen wet of colour
Down a feathered face
Never bothered, ever simple
Dimpled with moulded smiles and frowns

If there be smoldering days
- breathless ones that collapse with a bang
Fathering running heartbeats
And widening shock-eyes
That’s when the fall is felt
Upon the very proud skin
Losing touch
Collecting love
And catching careless beads of rays

With eyes closed and looking within
The fodder fed man shakes
Along the beat of the heat
Gaining speed, gaining greed
And when the bruise berries open
The apathetic tears begin again

A memory would not be one

A memory would not be one
If it’s not even a memory done

Choking In Chinese

Scarlet bearing cheeks
In a truth moment
Starkly bared
Breathing in waters of embarrassment
And cold curled lips
Twisting like a cynic’s mind
A moment hardly undone
While clock hands nodded
And clock heads smiled
To my groping
As my English tongue killed
The actual words it was born to speak
The bush of courtesy procreated
Between the stuttering and the confused
Staccato winds unwound
Leaving droplets of Chinese
In their faces
Where their pretend yeses
Pretend to be
And their pretend eyes telling me
“You’re freaking Chinese!”

The Smiling Us

As if a mirror is not enough
Seeing crotches and bareness all
Sweeping lengthy fingers of nails
Across
The length of droppingness you’re worried about
But no not nothing can be anything done
And in dressed up skin
Or an undressed pre-party chest
A-heaving
Excited wet teeth
Tappy
A chattering smile
Cheesing at a piece of you
And at once it’s gone in a minion minute
To leave a gentle mantle
Pretty enough to remain
Smile prints in your head

But oh!
What gluttons of moments we are
Refusing the passings of clock running
Snaring the non-stopping tick-tockings
Click-hogging on DCs
On silver knobbles with trigger happy fiddlydees
Stuck in moments too long, too round
Too wasted living a shot, a second longer
And all the lonely, lovely ones
Sadly try
Rubbing on stinging masks
Painted on with happy black colours
And get it stolen away by a godly flash
And the moment’s washed and faded
Merely cast in bits
To be swept and kept within lucidity of the past
For man to see
What surface freedom
What redness blown on faces shown
Sprawled naked across the world
To only give one man gold
And smiling us run amok cyberwards
To feed the deed of plasticity
Into bright liquid windows
Bright enough to grow five tonne heads

Well, Is that frozen bliss?

I am a pote

For I am a pote
With words I coat
A slaking moat
I am a pote

For I am a pote
I hoard for heights
To seek for might
I am a pote

I am a pote
At times I choke
On words unspoke
For I am a pote

I am a pote
I’m sad and broke
But very much stoked
For I am a pote

Through the oceaned sky I grope
With perverse blind eyes
Finding a fix to ruin the stagnancy
Of the rotting black wounds of my idleness
And through massive liquid windows
(At times of a darkening green
At times of reaching my glassy eyes
At times when I stop
And start again)
The starries,
They bare all ten fingers of their souls
Waving it a thousand and more times
To pull me in their shrouded thoughts
And I get unsobered with their liquored words
I get moved
And hope for strokes
To stroke hopes
And I am a pote

Within the lids of my sleeplessness

Within the lids of my sleeplessness
I find your vivid self dressed in dreams
Loving life with so much might
Loving me with heartaches and grit
I made a vow, now, to help myself
Pass red lights and dropping currents
To feed back in showers what I have got
And I pull under frowns and groans
On stubborn mountains
On roped up seas
But in spite of that seeming hopelessness
I’ve got my share to give
Just a matter of a sit down time
But it will be there, darling
To reach you in stretched out arms
To wrap you within a longing me
I will be there and I promise you
But not during when you think
Or not during when I might
But it will be when
During a time you will smile
And find that Love has always been holding your hand
And I will be there

There It Goes

I never knew the grind of non-poetry
Of never freedom sounds
Of safe illicit pounds of words
Shredding light away from its inner glow
Now I know

Someone’s given me corns of scorn
Through the wind from his eyes
And slapping pink pies with thorns
Killing the rain I slurp up from
Soon it’s gone

Just when I thought for comfort from blood
I sought a little merry
But not so terry, the words I heard
They ravaged my eager smile
Wait awhile

And with grass green eyes I look to the Pantheon
How tastefully savage
Their nude words age with beauty
While I bathe in their mirthful prose
There it goes