Ink Poem to Paper

How do you expect a body to be healthy with its brains washed out?

Follow music down a windy street

Your mind will learn to answer most questions if you relax and wait for the answers

Time jumps like a broken typewriter…

Loneliness roams across the continent like fog horns over still oily waters and tidal rivers

Vulture wings husk in the dry air and dying jackal slobbers silver under a dessert moon.

The copulating rhythm of the universe flows through room

A great blue spun space echoes

Gentle pink dawn, pink as candles on little girl’s birthday cake, pink as spun sugar, pink as a sea shell, pink as cock pulsing in a red fucking light. Be just, be just, if you can’t be just be arbitrary. Leave for unknown places with unknown purposes

Where everything is free to enter or to go to

And abort the night, jump the border control

There are no foxes here to slum the gutter

Keep the line in sight, squeeze thru tubes

Bodies in masses strong as sea currents

Go under toe

Go under toe along the city shore,

The human mind always seeks more.

Cultured apes watch learn seek out new tools

Traveling and tracing shapes

Chasing hands of time in circles

And discovering horrors and miracles

Letter word number echolalia gospels

City pharaohs riding night busses through London boroughs

Flash thoughts in desert dark

A reptilian eyelid flips up to an ivory moon

Under which creatures breed and open like corollas

With absolution and anoesis

And awaken skin and awaken searches and awaken to warmth

Go look

Nest in bodies, rest under the tide of breath

Candid confusion, carnage

Masses make objects of us

Pluck oyster pearls from perils

Hours arrive by the second without permission

Put hands to work, espy thy neighbour

Ride out with doxy Dionysus’s dim and insect awareness

And be precise

Be precise with the dawn.

Time is cyclic not linear, we are all sacred geometry, the minors, the mirrors and the gold.

Be precise with the dawn…

You see human decay is really human delicacy,

the tramp under the street lamp is living art set back set free

the invisible figure for all to see, observed surreptitiously

a stagnant soul that stirs uses words in theory to explore different trail ways

all ways lead back to the core,

the human mind always seeks more

Get me higher bite my wire we are all flirting flames from the same fire

Raw smoking splif and rotating shifts

Racetrack youtube back to the forward and back inside myspace street space and head space breath thru hoops join the loops, cherish soulful scraps…

Never look back. Don’t forget to look up and around at city pharaohs riding busses thru London boroughs

You see mortality is reality. Life is random ramblings and time concepts

Hourly confines, camouflaged cages, stuck in-between linear lines

Within the circle, the turn, the arc, the seed, the centre is everywhere, the circumference nowhere

Travel back to no mans land, toes in the sand

Travel across husk moon journeys

Carry out rationality in straight jackets

And buy fresh fruit from the packet

Time jumps like a broken typewriter

Everything is free to enter or to go to

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