Monday, 3 January 2011

Why man is a lonely drug





Too many heartbeats/not enough heartbeats
Rhythm is all out
                           the walkers are talkers
Disruption of fecal matters
Brand                     I am a doorstep to dawn
At night I am a golden eagle
                               Have you seen the sign?
A wheatfield on fire
A parachute on water
Combine various elements, set them free
                                The rat-a-tat of history is your undertaker
Meet a maker, shake a tin
                          This is murder, I cannot forget the foreign dew
Her remains are locked in the padded cell
I have a key to her horror
                                      She knows Christ, and every sailor
Every carpenter who slips on shocks
               I am awake to marvellous guns, to heresy, flocks
Of bastard swans are hanging from a hydrogen balloon
I pick them off, one by one
                               They fall and fly
                                Like teardrops
                                Their wings are creosote dreams
                                Sometimes I lie awake dreaming of this




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