I am a stick in the sun
A log in the fire
I am just a satelite
Objects close in
I enter the illumination
of the supermarkets ceiling
pouring down on me
people don't give space
Their bodies press up against
They extort attention
by raising voices
making physical contact
The shelves and displays
neon hypbnotism
I am a wallet
A purchase a product and a receipt
The man reached out and brushed the mannequin with his hungry fingers, obsession was holding his arm up, drool spilling generously down to the unswept floor failing to find a clean surface to land on.
He pushed his eyelids open to continue ogling the mannequin, using the reinforcments of his brow and forehead. sighing with deep affection as his sweat stained fingers touched the plastic arm of her.
He shifted his position on the stool accusing himself in his own head of letting his senses betray him into an intoxicating limerence at frequency so erotic in his mind's radio, he was running out of underwear.
The mannequin stayed exactly still, showed no signs of arousal and the surface of her remained hard and dry. All things the logical mind would say, should put a man off. Not so.
So again the man reached out his damp warm fingers searching for something outside of the aberration he was accustomed to seeing each morning in the mirror before suiting up to work the vitrine's of that old department store on brompton road.
sliding down my saliva flood night
Toothache renders me useless
Howling into the dawn a lame animal
The cyclic pains of life coming to stay the weekend
the pillow pushes on the nerve and wakes me
the pain wrecks me, I roll and I fade
I give into the pain and it intensifies
sliding down my jaw
sliding down the last jarring emotion of dream
setting discomfort over my face
I must just bear it silence
I must just imitate the quiet
Separate my life,
cut through it NOW I am two.
Dreams from reality from sight,
the division bleeding.
The blood is shimmering.
Which are my clothes?
Is my body reality?
Do I wear my dreams?
Am I illusive? Am i fallacy?
Chase these words.
Separate my muscle apart,
from my heavy bones
My brain from my heavy heart.
See me in these pure contradictions.
Trying to thread it all together I the blind tailor!
Is reality my body?
Am I dressed in my dreams?
One falls off the other I am naked?
I am ignored until the shimmering division of me,
engulfs the world in a searing broad growling fission?
Secrets of this verse tattoed on the flames
Regrets and hurt unglue from this life game
clay faced
my nose slipped off
soft as thought soft as despair
thumb-marked, unfinished
clay face in the mirror
I lose myself in fragments
My face is clay and comes apart
I take each part off
My face is disfigured
I am no longer myself
The shape of me is different
Narrow and wrapped in tissue
I pull pieces of me off
This should be agony
Tis just confusion
No longer recognizable
They met and talked of their health
I say away just listening
They just began singing
with some kind of hip hop swagger
they sang- just got to say them words
just gotta do that deep ass kiss!
Everyday they adjust and fit
each little victory is a little gift
If you want that sort of thing
-Just bend and twist
-prepared to get down and
-do that deep ass kiss
And that is how they sang
dip down count and tell sweet lies
deep down noone wants to lose their pride
Their smiles and swagger swing
-The action that follows those words that fit
you better do that deep ass kiss
illusions shed then you are left
with what remains
