Innocent, you looked up
At the world that walks and talks,
And you tried to sit up
To absorb the wonder of it all
Yet you yourself were restrained
By harsh black Velcro that had you framed
Like a crayon picture for motherly inspection.
Restrained, thus detached,
From your mother and the world:
One only needs logic
To systematise the effect of this cause.
It was a shame when you looked up
And saw your gentle mother
Looking not at you, but the same
Talking-walking world that you were watching
So you winced, and cried, not just for yourself
But for the family unit as it manifests
In today’s absent world.
In short, we are out of touch; asynchronous
With not only the present, but our identities:
The days when mother held child
Like monkey held infant are receding
Like rainforests in the new age.
The most formative of days,
So every position, every situation
And every sigh of early morning air
Can alter the course of your toy-box ship.
Who is it you are beneath your mask ? What task could ever crack its curse ? Your persona; Faceted as a chiseled diamond, Distorting any glaring light That could expose the essence below; I long to scratch it’s stony surface, I long to see it’s final end, To put its tired smile to rest. I wonder, if I tore off your mask Would it be one of many layers ? Layers, that work together, Like soldiers in an army, Prepared to be replaced ? Let me catch a glimpse of You, And see at last what is true. On the meadow, let us lie And let us dance until we die. Show me every shade of blue, That makes your sky so beautiful.
A high-speed rail connects The distant north To the distant south. We all are close; Closer than ever. Too close, in fact, That it’s impossible To get Away. Maybe we’d Have been better off With simple roads... But why stop there ? Let’s just walk everywhere ! But what Would that change ? The flaws in life Are fundamental; Restrain them As we may They’re here to stay Forever And a lifetime.
I’m bored And pissed The worst Combination. Someone’s talking About stabilising The drug economy Which doesn’t mean A fucking thing To me Because my drug Is alcohol And it’s royally Legal. There are seven letters That mean more to me That stabilising The economy, Perhaps, And they are: A L C O H O L. Affirmations And opinions Interject Like two streams Of piss. No, man, I don’t, Care, About NASA’s droopy flag, Or owning, Spacesuits, That are frankly Terrifying, For some abstract reason, Like how They look like The Michelin man Or something Equally Terrifying. Im willing to bet Against the man diagonally Opposite me; I’m willing to bet, That he is pulling bullshit facts Out of his very own Faecal matter That he just rocketed Out of His Ass. Fuck this. I’m done.
Is a car crash
Outside of a motel
That you never wanted
To stay in
Is a mattress
Where the sheets
Change their tone
Is an ashtray
Filled by doctors
Is a shark
In a tin of tuna
As squid rings
Is an audition
For a play
But one must guess
As flecks of grey against weathered crags, The pigeon flock glides over foamy sands, They graze the gaunt, sallow faces of cliffs, Contoured by eternal moss, untouched by sage hands. The picture of patience, with mercy of man, From heaven above, the peregrine falcon judges, Determined, the avian magistrate strikes her gavel, And so mortal fates are decided; no being grudges. Hayabusa peels away from the clouds, Guided by instincts, honed and refined, With streamline speed and precise dexterity, Prey and gunsights, perfectly aligned. Death; the pigeon's ruffled feathers gently fall, And sink like warships along the turbid coast, The falcon feasts on her hard earned prey, And the falcon's pride, a thing to boast.
Another month ends Uncertainty of feeling Another month starts
Beneath bides the soul Shackled by mind and body Liberate the soul
I really like this print. I think it fits the theme perfectly. A sailor is cutting off the rope of a prisoner during a storm.
Action is a risk Nothing ventured, nothing gained Confined in stasis
Emotions churning Sentimental reflection Letters to the past