Discommunion

I walked down to the roadside shop
I lit a match, and lit a lamp.
The unrest in my bones was just
This uneasiness, old and damp.
So that is why I took my things
And set them sail on a paperboat
And slowly walked out of the shop,
And apotheosised on the nameless road.

Measured Out Moonlight

The fever it creeps on the carpet,
And half the story's been told.
I run from these autumns, these torments;
I run from this burning cold.

The smoke it crawls like insects,
And this anklet, it slowly grows old.
These chains, oh these chains...
I run from this burning cold.

The veins, they have been frozen
And the ventricles are all half dead
And I, all I do is let this winter spread.

The walls, they have been painted
And the storms have been brewed tonight.
You take a sip of the clouds,
And it seems to be quite alright.

The lyre and violin are singing,
They know the quiet songs you hum;
While I sit in the corner,
And pour out a glass of warm rum.

The pillows and bullets have been chosen,
And sigils have been written and stained,
And I, all I do is let this spring be born again.

The fever it creeps on the carpet,
And in silence, it dreams a new rock.
The cold, it burns, it shelters;
And I, all I do is walk.

A More Watercolour Twilight

These little bits of breath
That are stolen
And made into flux,
Struck with stars and hammers;
It is our hands, which shape them.
Our blood made into sweat,
And our earth made into life and death;
Slowly ferments into the fine strands
Of the real.

Once Upon a Place

The smell of a somewhat sublime rhyme,

Of cologne and of brain,

Are smells which clutter my working desk,

And fog over my window pane.

This is now, and that was then;

The rewindstories time and again,

The Once Upon a Place where and when

I was young, and shaped.

Once upon a place, I lived and sang,

Once upon a place, I slept.

With workflow diagrams,

Pebbles and twigs,

Those memories I have kept.

Some

Forevermore let this be known,

Of all those who live and die alone,

And leave fragile footprints in their stead,

Some have big hearts,

And as much head.

Degrees of Freedom

The desk that is in disarray,
Fuels a scattered mind.
A frozen timeblur left behind.
The wall and gates that age away,
They divide the tinsel things.
They divide the world.
And such wings
We take.
Like birds,
Like insects.
In one more degree
Of freedom.

Urban Strangers

The sky which is stretched polythene,
And stars and moon painted in the scene.
Cigarette smells wafting into the night,
Forming questions
That have been.