Posts Tagged ‘day’

Trio

Posted: October 13, 2017 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

iggy

The holy trio of Iggy, Bowie and Reed

Now just Iggy

But Iggy just keeps on going

Causing trouble in a spectacular manner

Just imagine Iggy at the Big Day Out

Iggy swings the microphone around his head

Then it hits him the face

Then he says

‘Let’s fuck this shit up’

And starts pulling down the curtains around the stage

So let us fuck shit up

Just like Iggy

Every day

As everything is fucked anyway

Let us try to fuck it further and deeper

 

 

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winona-ryder-400_0

He wants her in the water like a lily made of flesh

He wants her in the mountains scaring yeti out of caves

He wants her riding nowhere at the beginning of the day

He wants her to embrace him in succulent moonlight

He wants her sweet and writhing in the intensity of fuck

He wants her to rewire his brain into a more pleasing configuration

He wants her to convince him that he is worthwhile and not a chump

He wants her to put up with his porn-perverted sexuality

He wants to wax along her wobbly sex

He wants to gnarl around her three pointed paradise

He wants her to pretend he is attractive

He wants her to extend her body to him

She doesn’t want to

images-5

Hanging out in underpasses, beard resplendent- your Hawaiian shirt bringing down the psychometric city

Dancing down pavements with your hash-pipe in your pocket

Dressing up as a spooky clown to freak out suburban natives

Mellowing out under a tree in vibrant sunlight with your heart full of love

Marrowing the meat of the moment like a pilgrim on the way to the abyss

Are you my angel?

Are you my woman?

Infinite gladness paints plasticine fractals from life

Diadems sparkle like schizophrenic stars

While muscles relax problems contract

Gonna be alright daylight transcending midday melancholy

Under purple skies, pastel balloons soar like birds

Sun smiles on tie-dyed moments illumining faint tracings

Perfect day blazing sensual sentiments

Peace of the soul for humankind

When dreams are confessed

Love becomes manifest

psychotic-disorder-945

Last time I stopped taking my antipsychotics

I felt a bit weird and anxious

And started getting obsessed with the rantings of pick-up artists on the internet

I was convinced by their bullshit that I could emulate an Alpha male

I tried picking up every woman I met

And got progressively crazier every day

Antipsychotics make me fat but they also keep me sane

Toxic masculinity belted through my veins

My pores oozed fuck juice

Not a good situation

So I went back on my medication

And started to mellow out a bit

Now I think about beautiful women all the time

But I can control my impulses

screee

greige pile of rocks
tumbledown scree
spotted to darker grey by rain
morbid cloud-white day
sunless tedium and depression
spitting rain on rock intermittent
granite embellishment footing a towering cliff
broken rocks- pebbles to boulders
misarranged stochastic pile leans a triangle against vertical cliff
rock-fall upon rock-fall building
a home for lizards and snakes
who sun themselves on the rocks
Occasionally
whisper wind blusters the rain horizontal
rain spatters rocks to dark lead grey
caves and crevice network formed in the scree
home for night creatures
rock logic of stone on stone
impervious to reason or water-colour
too grey
too dull
too empty
we look up and dream of flagrant suicidal leaps from the top of the cliff
to splatter the greige rocks blood-red and organic
painting a more interesting image than this
greige tedium
grey-shadowing mass
of rocks and stones
fallen down to crush
nothing

abstracty

Electric dildo daylight
Muffle-bum madness
Crypto-psychotic musings
To tempt
To trip
To terrorize
All day long
Pants down for action
Bloated
Wobbly
Yet somehow tempting
Never denied
Always supplied
Crumbly green herb with orange hairs
Relaxation
Recreation
Celebration
Dancing naked round the burning civilization
With a hope
Of Transcendence

burrendah

Burrendah Primary School in the outer suburb of Willetton in Perth
New plants- short stubby bushes and asbestos clad buildings still in primary colours
Kids in maroon uniforms- swarms of little boys and girls

The little blonde boy stands alone in the withering wind in the undercover area
The Fremantle doctor has come in again
Pole straight he stares into the cold steel pylon, hiding behind it from the other children
Willing the school day to end

Oh infinite aching solitude
Oh twisted random mind
Churning full of white noise
No other children talk to him
Except the bully who pushes him over so he scrapes his knee on the bitumen

When he gets home he is happy
Immersed in the rich private world of his toys
His parents never know how he suffers
Like John of the Cross in a box