Peter Lilly: Poems

Litter grew around us, teeth gritted in impatience for the filthy fruit of our consumption, that is transported from beyond the individualist's horizon. Your universe hates you when the lights are off, shutting its eyes to your waking, and all those words you bring to life as you read from pages that appear as you turn them. Anaesthesia dissolves the teeth leaving you with mysterious bite marks and bitter amnesia, it clouds the resolve of your blinkers and your mirrored walls. Echoes of outside draw its fingernails across chalk boards of yet to learn lessons, coughing up childhood traumas of empathy. They drain opaque from your worldview and leave you with the monsters, and the monstrous landfill skyline that scowls at your children's future. Yet beyond that refuse view there are leaves with the colours of depth. There is living matter never to be synthesised, and mass produced. There is an oceans of faces, ev...

These lies cast a thoughtful zeal from the heart of their origin and it convinced so many in the necessity of shadows, that is the necessity of corruption. It was some sort of impatience that drew its teeth across the shivering flesh of the already emotionally tortured, And so many twisted hands reach for the escapism of free-market capitalism that has the individual all wrong: Equating relational significance with collecting eroding materials in the makeup of glittered vomit. And so may twisted hands reach for the razor-wire scaffolding of communism which has community all wrong: Negating the significance of the particular and fashioning flesh cogs which will never rotate cleanly because we are persons, not machinery. Desperate people will grasp for any answers they can reach.  This poem is a call for care and consideration, it is written to highlight that there is more than left and right, conservative and labour, blue and red, ...

Skin chases skin alone and stretches itself until it dulls every window, pouring restlessness into home. Skin knows its pours are suffocating and draws its own ink to display fading ideas as permanent tracing these tattoos, hallucinating. Skin licks mirror's cold and clouds wet circles, yet at it's most lucid it realises it's own translucence thus, realises its potential for skin is part, not purpose. Written late in January 2012