The world tilts.
I was running all along the soft warm night
The embers
The windows
The fire
Its conscious
It draws me
Together
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to dream
to let the current
Encoding another YT vidya now.
In the meantime
A Poem of Sorts
The strange evening
Hangs between
The ringing
Of what is and isn’t seen
There’s wisdom in the leaves
That golden quake
Just above the eaves
For even a moment to take
Is to taste
Eternal
Neither want nor waste!
If you help somebody
It’s an accident
Cause the world is bloody
Never learn from precedent
It pulses and beats
In hollers and heats
Life flows down streets
Aorta greets
Whatever passes ‘long
Takes it through
Circulation washes right or wrong
You were there just there
And so was the moment
Don’t you know where
You paid the rent
You want the credit
That you’re living on
Always try to edit
Just to get along
So what’s it now
When the coronary
Shows we’ve nothing to sow
Kills your last canary
It’s an accident
Yea, you helped somebody
To see the sense in spent
yea it was dirty bloody
Great heart
You
Yea
You
And
That’s a start
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Wasted days and golden rays of sunshine
When will I rise and tow the drowning line
Long blonde hair
Wicker chair
And
Summer wine
This malaise
The milieu
It won’t be fine
Wasted days and golden rays of sunshine
Dew is rollin by all the time
And
The crow it flies
And
The crow it lies
Dead upon the ground
I hear the sweet sound of Jenny’s laughter
All these pleasant things that we’ve been after
The browning in the sun
The warfare has begun
And
I’m getting on
As the days are growing long
Hours
Our
Hours
For miles
Of stinking pavements
And
dirty shoes
For miles
Of stinking pavements
And
Moody blues
Well now
Which path would you choose
I would ask the crow
He did not respond
He just laid there
And
His bones
They did sow
A recompense of sorts
He found his divination
In these cruel cruel desserts
Ah
Wasted days
Wasted days and golden rays of sunshine
When will I rise and tow the drowning line
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What are you?
O you distant light…
What’s this difference with which you…
Tantalize my sight?
Is it true,
What they say about the might?
That it’s blue.
Blue like indecision peering over a great height?
The sort of hue,
that doesn’t assert right.
Just let’s it hang till true,
releases knuckles painted white.
To give view,
To give way to clearer sight.
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Drums cascade
Tumbling over
Heartbeats made
Tumbling over
Driving shade
Never lower
Now staccato
Effervescing
Now Legato
Subtle dressing
As field
In bloom
As shield
Embracing gloom
Rhythm
All elemental
Natural logarithm
Living fall
Expressing
Thunder sun
Striking dust
One Oh
One
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Impromptu poem and voice.
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Garden walls
Blooming wells
Dancing halls
Myriad hells
Gaffes on Dreher
Dead eyed stare
The sorts that disappear
Static glare
Woodpanneled and antique
You look pretty on the stair
I may as well be speaking Greek
Yea, I live there
Selling metros to the dealer
Beneath my hair
Time is the healer
I can spell it out
So I do
Though I’d rather shout
As we disintegrate from view
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The dos and dont’s
The was and wont’s
The fronts
The rears
The wars
The years
O it was just a phase
That’s what they’d say
Funny turn of phrase
Just one of those days
Yeah my son o son my son
Where are the suns rays
The poets are cannon crushed
For fools and whores
So we’re rushed
Through the dos and dont’s
The was and wont’s
To the fronts
Just like gears
For the wars
The fools and whores have fears
That’s what they’dsay
If honesty was policy
Yet fools are ever dapper in their double tongue
Deception with felicity
Flays the virgin young
O nurse become a chef
Turn this pancake lad right over
He’s got no bottom half
Couldn’t duck for cover
Quiet quick enough
Yeah there was a fine parade
He was called a diamond in the rough
Left his better shade
Out somewhere in time
Cause we have to get paid
Elsewise its a crime
Responsibility that’s the rules
To feed the whores and fools
Keep them coddled warm in bed
Yeah they’ll send the poets
Till poems are dead
The dos and dont’s
The was and wont’s
Are ringing in my head
I am stern above the marble
Waiting in the tower
Sleeves are heavy
With tears Ill shower
Yes Ill shower clean
That which this wicked sphere has been
I do not worship
I am not worshiped
Soon I will be seen
Will be seen
Seen
(Goodness the formatting is getting weird as I switch between classic and Gutenberg?)
Pardon the Mess
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The Fractal Journal 