Shivers, twitches, a gamut
Of activity, restless cut raving
Writhing, yet colourless,
Steeped in heavy sundries
That hold no meaning, empty
Vessel waits for action, waits
Forever for a fulfilling absolution.
Eyes met unwillingly, soft
Shivers rippling, undulating waves
Tickling and twitching, oft
When one lays to rest
Yet what might be saved?
A line here, a fragment there,
And shivering twitches rave on,
A strong will stripped bare.
Tired eyes, hurt eyes, hazy lies the day.
This the sick light glow of malaise,
Slow syrup, tearing tissue paper,
Ennui mild beside a good coat’s loss.
A city so well lit should not lie
So dormant, so very dark.
Never dreary in decorous neon,
Yet extra planar light barely peeps in.
Consider this your invitation
To the abyss, a station
Awaits, as does a carriage
With doors of light, wheels of gold.
Will you this offer accept?
Step inside and see
The real world as it flows
Into steadily seeking eyes.
Mechanical acts, mechanical voices,
Boredom makes blindness,
Ants feeling their way strangely
Toward the unknowable cliff edge,
A journey couched in natural platitudes,
The mere beginning to a prelude.
Whose head is leant against the glass
Hears much, the eyes on the screen
Far less than what ants need.
A Red the lurid shade of rotten roses dyes
Bloody the sun’s sinking skies above wind swept dock streets,
Dreaming lazedly about curious shoppes along lanes twistingly followed,
And what rode in on strange winds brought from sleepy seas.
Amongst their draughty alleys he made
Enquiries of all craft purveyors wizened
Or young, with their secret sigils
Or those particular altar finneals.
No joy there among those odd stores
Of needful things and biscuits buttered,
By knives far sharper than want sheepish spirits
Of mortality, grown and mortally breeding.