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Wednesday 18 December 2013

one4one (1998)



I awake

A tawdry mess of lumpen limb and spaghetti senses.

Adage

Upon adage pulverised on pulsing crag, my pulped wrists

Of rage

Assumed long-lost, wizarded away, with imprudent folds of trust long-left

In lakes

Of lonely. Drowned in this azure, even the wanton-weary cannot rest


(Or wake)


Surge, then,

If dare you do, and in challenge to the sorry sun, whose filthy light

Begins

To snide into these rabid eyes, shout atonal assurance; and banish trite

Incense

Of gratitude given weakly, naiveté lost cheaply. With clattered conscience, delight

In limb


Locked fallacy, only to wake with a world whose hope spins bland and blind.

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