The weight of a dream

 I must carry that heavy brick
paradise in a stainclass
Solid brick pink as birth
heavy as death

Brother in the corner
kicking up a storm
A few moments of indignation
A future to take out their anger on

Was the dream implanted
or some stinking sappy residue
dripping down from the family tree
To us ahem seedlings

Those dressed up days

 Don´t dress friday in a top hat
Or throw a cape on saturday
extend monday till absolute flatulence and tedium
Thursday has already been given a handkerchief
A clothing store to dress friday

To adorn the weekend in all of it´s fanfare
To play into illusions that time itself grows a personality
That a day may be decorated in ostentation
In the life liver of the day´s mind

Make them nude to see the truth
Oh routine routine brutal and obscene
Take those clothes and hats and accessories
And of the week make no mockery

Hours inside the working class mind
minutes tick and scream like the railway siren sign
They have no ornaments or earings to speak of
No roman robes or fine cloth of greek gods

Yet friday has been given a mansion
monday a slum
wednesday some mid class crisis
renting a life

And tuesday can´t even afford an umbrella
let alone a colored one hanging in the festivals
that lies in wait for the end of the week
post expedience is tipsy and sleek

Burning through loans just to overeat
and dressing saturday who has never known a hangover
immortal and cunning selling tickets for exciting distraction
Friday procuring relevant form of inebriation 
sunday the janitor and divine forgetter

swirling around each month like street thugs
Hitting each year like a cunning band of bankrobbers

Needle gate

 Once you are through
you simply wouldn´t believe
You arrived through the needle´s eye
Not a second after grief

Burst out of a tube
The cosmic shotgun
Into a cloudy heaven
A million emotions each a color

A taste, a smell

Once you are through the needle
earth calling from a far off caldesac
As you rocket over a highway
long thin and sharp

Firing into that subtropical park
of fullgrown evergreen trees above a small humble house
dogs and offspring sun lighting it all up homely like
even the shade utters affirmatively belonging belonging

A warmth, a glow

Once you have made the path through this life
and it is quite real and steel as a knife
Yet more pointed and annointed than sword tips
of the city wall´s guards

That even in the begger´s eye you would find god
Step forward then

Map of destiny

 Father the map was burnt, should I care?
where the hell do we go from here?
Did you float on out there, and get close to the barrier
The cosmic wall graffitied with secrets on high
Tell me that old meaning of life

Some divine route through these electronic sheets
and seemingly real problematic streets
what do I make my crown with to never taste curse?
How to conquer my square of the known universe?
And turn the whole place into banquet so I can consume it all

And then Old man how exactly do I digest all that
Father is it worth it?
To rise above it all as age attempts to knock you off
To memorize the crimson labyrinth of your own heart
Could you not atleast write that red map out for me

Progress(mobile)

 What you need is a vehicle
a container for money
one abstract a bank account
One physical a wallet
A packet of snacks, a day of begging

The thief is time, yes he is the big city thief

But what you need is a car
an identity
something people can associate you with
A space to take you away
All painted

The deciever starts as a skin replacement

Before it makes it´s way to the heart
to the unguarded terrain all dry hay
for the sparks and embers of ambition
the forwards driving and nodding head
piledriving it´s way through the decades

Scars on the intellect for Rolemodels

You need a motor
And an assault rifle
A small army
And a vision for new world

For the old one is just fertilizer