My belle

My belle

Big beautiful roses have long stems
Hormones and selective breeding
Growing the body mine desires
Yet tainted by this falseness

Irony. Symbolism. Lesson.
But it’s unlearned.
Nothing is known.
Like why is it I find

The odd one out special
An exception to the rule
Falling into a finite band
Whose boundaries obstruct

One side says she’s the one
Whereas the other enumerates
Long lists of components
Hormones and selective thinking.

A moment’s peace

A moment’s peace

Inspired by a drum beat
The downward spiral of keys
Harpsichord and accordion
Then cutlery, crockery clatter
A steam burst, milk froths

Closer still, individual voices
Fading in and out of range
Random and incessant action
Accompanied by punctual rhythms
Both catering to my soul

But which do I prefer
Does music lift me up
As I strive to catch the melody
Or is my imagination stretched
By snippets of conversations

Then it occurs to me
I’m not alone
And more problems exist
Here collectively
Than in my single life

Dithering globalist

Dithering globalist

My life ticks backwards
While glancing over my shoulder
And thinking I should
Face up to things

I sit and wax lyrical
Into a vinyl cylinder
An ode to joy
With an eastern allure.

Some cultures attract
Others threaten
Drawing pretty lines
In defecation brown

Global homunculi
Featuring sensitive spots
And a soft underbelly.
I reject the arguments

In favour of backtracking
Knowing old times
Are not what we want
Yet cleanliness calls.



The question begs
Why perform an action
Not conducive to motion
In the direction
Of your desires

My will is sleeping
It too needs to rest
Only now occurring
Is the thought
That I’m being bluffed

It’s fatigue
When I need catharsis
Instead I change seats
Unaware of the facts
Random stochastic acts

My internal logic
Is wired backwards
Approaching chaos
Then I hear the voice
Of the ex waitress

Choosing another seat
Her words having been elsewhere
Navigating a torturous route
My senses tell me
What was that?

You want to sit with me?
You’re new here?
There is no communication
I get lost in thought
Trying to pinpoint her accent

Space flies

Space flies

If time can no longer be spent
What is left to do right now
Whilst contemplating the future?

Accordingly it stops approaching
Until I’ve sorted out my life
And spent all my hard-earned money.

Turning around at this juncture
Opens more questions than it closes
The past can fend for itself.

Instead I cleanse myself of resentment
And pay hommage to its acts
Having kept me burning bridges.

From here then, I’m frozen in time
Until I’ve sorted out my life
And spent all my hard-earned space.