winterland

 your nights are getting slender       as darkness envelopes you     better drag yourself together      you’re stretched out pretty thin     you feel so empty  inside   but what does that signify?      there are years that beg the question      days that reply in kind     you’ve been loading up the blues      better cut yourself some slack      you’re only human after all      you’re trading up again    bigger problems for harder times     you’ve weaponised your love      but you feel no safer      this is the winter of your soul       and you’re tired and getting old      but you can’t return home      you’ve been left out in the cold

 

heretic prophet

 silence is the ultimate heresy – only silence speaks to the soul

there are no holy books       no sacred words of god      but there is knowledge     and knowledge is power    you are here to provide the universe with meaning       so says the heretic prophet      and he’s the one should know       organised religion is a tool of oppression      so let your inner peace      lighten that burden     the mind has its own geometry       and can make heaven of hell     and hell of heaven    your prayers are just a longing in your soul     but there’s no specific combination      will bend the world to your will      so become as nothing       to feel everything      better to have no words       than speak falsehoods      remember god has no religion       and heaven is a state of being       no words can take you there        because the truth is inviolable       and forever remains unspoken     

argus

there’s a killer in my bed         murderer of sleep        he will not take his rest         until he has slain all my dreams      my own worst enemy      stalks between my sheets       darkness softens the edges of the world     the universe expands      my mind dilates too       the day begins at midnight      and I begin with it      maybe I sleep when I’m not looking        but I am looking now       and I can’t sleep for thinking       how many times have I written these words?        how many ships have I knowingly scuppered?        my oasis of calm     is becoming a nightmare        but I wander on       enslaved by the night        hold me close now         bring me some comfort       kiss both my eyes       send me some sleep     out in the dark there are people drowning      their stars burn too bright      to bring them any peace    I’m pounding out words      as if they were lifeboats      god save our souls       we’re in this too deep

devils

I am you       the power of you    I measured every cup of you     before I poured myself out too      we are both devils      we each pack our own hell     we take pleasure in loathsome things       and wield our desire like clubs      desire is in the jurisdiction of devils     and desire is achingly cruel     we were wounded by desire     and desire has made us wicked        our love was a cry in the void        we bled willingly for it       while it gave us strength      but passion betrayed us and our love turned to contempt       we’re weakened now         there’s a fatal flaw       and our silence speaks of failure    so we’ll settle our account       with what remains in our hearts      before we sever forever

death song #2 (en sotto voce)

intone my death song      hear me out     I want a real time extension    coz my future’s in doubt     I’ve got a one way ticket       it’s the only way out       there’s a few miles behind me      from the womb to the cemetery     every night     every day    I pray for mercy      but time will tell     there’s no other way     if my number is finally up      there’s surely time enough for one last  incantation     our little voices singing low      into eternity we flow 

sauce

 how do you like this sauce?       a vessel full of good intentions      idiot notions       and wholesome adult fun      the distillation of orgasmic juices      primed for psychosexual pay dirt        you can smell it      the fleshy expectation       a jolt of adrenaline      an electrical surge      we are dynamite     who cares why    luxuriate here in opulent splendour       I’ll roll us a stony   and weave some more lies       you and me baby      we’re something special        so let’s put this together     before it gets lost     

dionysus

we are made of sundry pleasures stolen    to quaff a lusty measure while we weep for something more      this world is more than seductive    it’s murderously addictive    so sweet and delicious have we become     we are killers of our sacred pleasures     and everything is pleasure      and pure pleasure is insanity     it’s the high on high  euphoric that salves the mind and frees the soul      you cannot buy such thrills      you must pocket them with scheming hands and a knowing touch      

the sweetness of love lies in the sharing of pleasure     but the sweetest pleasures are hardest won    for in the midst of joy there is despair      and at the heart of pleasure  there is pain      toil and fatigue destroys people      and pleasure restores them    without desire we have no function      without pleasure we are mere automatons     so let us all pleasures prove     for we are sorcerers and gods     in these fleeting moments     and we must relish our pleasures     before the spectre of boredom    turns us back into straw

troubled waters

 death ebbs and flows     with the tides      and seasons       my dreams are wont to do the same          with drowning boys        and bloated sailors       unnatural deaths     in troubled waters     to dream of death is to die a little       perhaps we all die as we dream        in some private nightmare        all on our own

 

isolation

I fashioned myself a tinfoil crown     proof against the inclemency of nature      when gods and sorcerers tamper with my head      I was trying to set things straight      christ knows I tried      with razor blades and sealing wax  to peel back    sixty years of insulation     the features     the faces     the names    stripped away    to reveal the emptiness of self      a million illusions consigned to memory

it’s half past dead in the morning       I’m pall bearer to my dreams        I feel it closing in    the certainty of loss      but loss does not define me       it simply reveals the true me      I count my wounds instead of sheep     every night is a little death     my isolation is a gift of the gods    a test of my endurance     isolation is the currency of  individuality       the sacrifice of my social appendage      in honour of a selfish heart

ripened

most of the time I’m ageless       but mirrors tell no lies      I’m too old now to plead innocence         and too young to know much at all    I have not grown wise     I’ve just become careful   I remember the follies of youth      the sap still rises in my veins     but I’m kinder now    and more patient    though I’m none the wiser    for all the books I’ve devoured       the lips I’ve kissed      and the secrets I’ve hidden behind my eyes    

I look upon the past as if it were a dream      and what a dream it was     that steadied me for the certainty of death    is there dust on my wings?      I have not forgotten how to fly       but fly to where?     surely not back into the comfort of old memories    but forward  where the days pass too swiftly to count        will I be surprised by my maker as I round the next corner?      or shall I simply fade away into the oceans of time?

I don’t screw with my neighbour      or take what isn’t mine     I know the edicts of heaven      and I keep an ear to the ground       I believe the world still talks to me      but as an infant     because I’m not a dead child    I’m a grown one    my mind still burns with delirious ambition      though I am mocked by the passing years     but this is not a lament for the dying     there are no tears in my eyes      for I have savoured life     and I’ll leave it without regret

 

power

 sex is power    your sex      your power     take it    shape it    break it      sex is power      as money is power      and violence is power      the object of power is power      and power corrupts     all the way      but any human power        can be defied    because beauty is power     kindness is power         love is power      and your words have power       so measure them carefully      we kill gods with the weight of our words      and anoint new ones to bind us into place    

art has power     become art     make yourself your canvas     resist the power that paints you docile       you’ve been educated       designed      controlled     and objectified      but you can break that power     there’s nothing you desire      that stands against nature    you are an individual      you are power    a force exercised in belief     thought     actions      and words        so speak yourself free      find the language that brings you power        modify your way of being       become a tree of knowledge      amidst competing  powers

commerce

 your jailors send their most convivial regards

they offer you 10% off your next purchase

and to ensure your complete cooperation

remind you that they hold familial hostages

the wheels of commerce turn more smoothly

when a little coercion is applied

besides, your credit rating could be effected

should you fail to comply

it’s a game of cat and mouse

and make no mistake – you are the mouse

so go back to the treadmill - you know the score

you’ll work hard for your living

until you can labour no more…