Wednesday, 26 August 2015

The Fold

I Can Not See My Eyes,
I Climb InTo The Mirror And Through It,
Through Where My Eyes Would Be,
And NoThing Is Stareing Back At Me.
A Face And A Mask Is What Am I Now,
Drawn To Reflect And So I Turn,
InTo The Edges And A Weakening Hold,
Players And Smoke To Mind And Mold,
These Ages Furrowed For Rocks To Throw,
I Ready MySelf And Aim For Thrice,
For The Shadow Of What I Am To What I Will,
Until Beyond The Fold To What I Fill...
Never The Earth To Hold My Ground,
Never In Sleep Could Peace Be Found,
ForEver I Be Simple For Words To See,
And NoThing Bleeding Back To Me.

Saturday, 1 August 2015

(...) As Humboldt The Drum

Chide The Rulers,
Entomb Your Kings And Your Queens Under The Table,
Let The Gamble For Blood Be Pricked And Run Blue,
For Its Purity Be A Rabid Chase InTo The Fold,
With Its Badges Gilded As Its Bridges Be In Kind,
Over Burning Ravines And Canned Applause,
Tense With A Molted Salivary,
Clapping Against The Body-Electric,
Sinking It Deep InTo The Sour Earth,
Vineyards And Vanity... Insects In Sects,
Hive The Heavy-Breaded In Honey,
While Death-Watches Hold Hands For Hoods,
Ticking Steady Near HeadBoards For The Mother Of Pearls,
An Hour An Ear On Signals From Pluto's Orchard,
To Tell Those Red With The Rust Of Eleusinian Mystery
That Her Fruit Has Fury,
And Amber Be Its Garden's Palace.