A Scream by the Music College
Held, in the fist of the throat
filched from lungs, spilched over
the voicebox
a shriek that has me
in a panic
a Hotscream
you were
enough to confuse anyone
gutteral, and a tribal dance on your tongue
to run run run on the overheated
singe of summer evening
it's audio snatch
a flotsam
a rogue, roamer of eardrums
sanity pinched long ago
by a breaking voice
the garden, the hedge,
diaphanous
stands a paltry referee
in all of this
mediating from me only
your vision
the last minutes of
the fifth hour
of post meridiem
die and the
good day gnarled itself
When I can
look, you're just a boy
playing football.
What if
Clutching the moon one night
in your cased eye
propped lids
manufactured, cased head
the moon were to drip,
trickling and tickling
treetops
shivering the backbones of petty clouds
taking with it distractions of stars
a frozen, pyroclastic flow of landscape
as she licks the floor
swoops in her grasp
a little bit of space currency
- you would be avaricious.
She will both engulf and cradle.
After her felling of dark,
she enraptures, captures worthless values
as she simmers at the window
like a rhythm at full flight
the promise of intimacy a white temptation.
Open the window then
for this mysterious, swimming creature.
After her journey she is a clamour of pallor.
Oceanic light, evading eyes
pervading sighs
and pushing, pushing
Sing and sigh.
She is poised; the glow props open your mouth,
pillowy between teeth.
Do I speak of another world?
Dripping moons?
Her only tides for the shores of dawn:
lashings of adventure, lyrical history and mystery -
the careful mechanics of an epic;
the residues of all stories.
She is poised;
and in her, you see, we are all just the faces of characters
...this one is quite old but mixing it up a little (time wise):
First Minutes - An Account
The day is hard.
The sun accusatory - a final win over the moon
it stands proud, livid, charred
it's armies on my bed sheet.
I turn, we face each other.
Defensive, I am at a whirlwind of petty sheets,
- that will do little to soften the sun's perseverance.
Blazes the windowsill, seethes
and finally my eyes are conquered. Half of me gone.
A finished and fruitless cornfield
the sun has caught me raw.
Only the sun's heat rash on my cheek,
I have not once woken to a lover.
We note each other's solitary ways.
Unchallenged, he is at once immodest.
His armies weigh a tonne.
Undefeated, Ozymandias of the sky, his kingdom did come.
A sharp, early horizon and raiment of rooftops,
he has all but conquered the bedroom wall in his mercilessness.
Alone, I rule the bedside table. I am done.
the promise of intimacy a white temptation.
Open the window then
for this mysterious, swimming creature.
After her journey she is a clamour of pallor.
Oceanic light, evading eyes
pervading sighs
and pushing, pushing
Sing and sigh.
She is poised; the glow props open your mouth,
pillowy between teeth.
Do I speak of another world?
Dripping moons?
Her only tides for the shores of dawn:
lashings of adventure, lyrical history and mystery -
the careful mechanics of an epic;
the residues of all stories.
She is poised;
and in her, you see, we are all just the faces of characters
...this one is quite old but mixing it up a little (time wise):
First Minutes - An Account
The day is hard.
The sun accusatory - a final win over the moon
it stands proud, livid, charred
it's armies on my bed sheet.
I turn, we face each other.
Defensive, I am at a whirlwind of petty sheets,
- that will do little to soften the sun's perseverance.
Blazes the windowsill, seethes
and finally my eyes are conquered. Half of me gone.
A finished and fruitless cornfield
the sun has caught me raw.
Only the sun's heat rash on my cheek,
I have not once woken to a lover.
We note each other's solitary ways.
Unchallenged, he is at once immodest.
His armies weigh a tonne.
Undefeated, Ozymandias of the sky, his kingdom did come.
A sharp, early horizon and raiment of rooftops,
he has all but conquered the bedroom wall in his mercilessness.
Alone, I rule the bedside table. I am done.
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