autumn leaves

buried under autumn leaves      the shadows of summer feed the soil     winter did not cheat them of life    it laid them down in silent pastures     to gift them rebirth in future days     I am wounded now    at least in spirit     I don’t know how or why    the winter has kissed my lips      the cold has touched my heart    but I still know how to love      and I’ll be coming back     so bury me in rotting leaves     rest me now for future days     just don’t lose my number     lover wait for me

 

sexual magnetism

 I still taste you      after all this time      you have a hold on me     I don’t seem to mind     it was all about sex      and sex is power     we shared an energy    sexual magnetism      I don’t remember the question     but sex was the answer      you knew that of me       you saw me coming      from a long way off       just another man     who would never control you       and I was hurt      I was paralysed     I felt helpless      that’s not attractive    in anyone’s eyes     we are all sexual creatures   and in a perfect world      we could fuck without consequence       but it’s not a perfect world        you were flawed      and so was I     the passion seemed intense       was it all in my mind?      do you remember me fondly?     or was I too unkind?

sacred

 

the morning dawns cool and still       and sings softly like distant hymnals    sunday holds some sacred place in memory      just as you are a sacred place right now     you are the sabbath      and the deepest truth of incarnation        is that all life is sacred        all days are holy      and all people divine       hold this sparkling jewel      against a clear blue sky     and it shines on six billion miracles      touch the pulse of the living earth      and become one with time and space    you are the whole world       an extract of the stars      you can reclaim the sacred for your own     live as if you were poetry     this is your church  eternal     right here in your heart

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