Showing posts from February, 2011


Show me your solid streetsthat carry the weight of hefty commuters;(a dangerous swarm,)and I'll show youcracks in the earth's crustthat entire cities might slip throughand writhe in the burning magma of hades.
Oh if your shops were emptywith broken windows!Life after death of capitalismwould make honey taste that much sweeter.
These faded warning signswere the sages of damnationand their preaching voice is worn and raspy.
Pavlov's politicians breathe trinkets and television,making you salivate, ringing shiny bellswhile they take the food from your plate.
we're in this togetherbut we really hate each other,this big society's not room enoughfor ego, immigrants, exports, productionand the stacks of disguises for the storehouses of hate.
We're in this together...but never you,it's always only me,in a collapsing cityshouting about the feathers which stuff my pillow.
The Egyptians loosened their shackles,those in Bahrain battle their immovable object,the Libyans taste …

Truth-less Time

These pictures are worth taking -down from the walls worth replacing with empty frames, plaster surrealism in window panes and fill art galleries with empty frames, they'll marvel at the irony.
Paint this blank canvas with -bohemian profundity astound at a distance and stroke your beard, content; self-labelled as 'intelligently weird', aiming to escape all that could possibly be feared, we'll bow to a truth-less time.
All timeless truths are captured in albums of nostalgia. But at least they re somewhere, breathing, frustrated by the pages they are trapped between.
I cannot breathe this in; -your insipid empty exhalation, there is no substance to your solution no life in this pollution, concentric circles of ablution map repetitive paths.
The earth is confused yet contented -with immanent destruction, how can this be? explain! art is mingled with the need to fein interest in all but achieving pain, for we must look enlightened.
A timeless truth is not yet asphyxiated, lying in wait for a …

Feb 13th; Yet To Find

Her skin serenades my working hands her listening silence is wise counsel to my
troubled, tired mind.
her searching eyes are welcome to my imperfections, because there is no judgement in her questions and no condemnation in her judgement.
Her complexity leaves me silent, her creativity paints the colours of my gaze across an otherwise beige room,
her blemishes are beautified in honesty and cast shadows across photoshop idols for the skin is deception.
She will bow where I bow but never to me and I never to her.

Written february 13th 2011 before I met my wonderful wife. too chliched? Naa!