The shadow line fell bumpily
At the rising concrete ridge
Cut in a "Z" squished nearly flat
By the weight of a beating sun
The azure flowers hung just above
Peeking down to watch
As dark meandered slowly sure
To catch it in its hiding place
A nest of colour cut from stone
And shivering in the sun.

Every alien I encounter
Wear's a human face

Where do you go when you've lost the love
When wings and things keep beating up your ears
Loud so loud like the room's not big enough
To hold the sounds it leaks from every pore
The thickness of work being undone and left in the rain.

Where do you turn when the jacket doesn't fit
For you've got limbs you weren't born to bear
The bus is broken down with so many stops to go
The signs are changing up, the juggler appears
To drop everything in a hail of rubber colours.

The sadder self awaken now adrift away from sleep
The sheep are counting down the hours of the dream
You could make me or leave me here unformed
A pile of clay in a dusty window.

Simple as the stroke of midnight

There is some stuff in my brains
Thats not letting itself be wordshaped at the mo
Just murmurings below the surface
A deeper shadow hinting
As a leviathon underneath
With the power to shatter my tiny boat
Or leap into the open sky
Or pass on unnoticed in peace

When the quiet sounds come calling
He is a lamb, a sheep, awandering.
The wolf underneath is stirring
As he drifts pillow silent and free
Unchecked in the sense of direction
He this ways and thats with an ease
The wolf-howl asilences conscience
He is drifter, unacknowledged retreat.
And so the fell gambit is hailed
A breaking of chains that suspend
To tumble down fallings and wailings
And gnashings of teeth cut blade sharp
As they gnaw through the the ends.
And the links pitter patter in hailings
Creep at snail's pace, the thoughts
Climb back beneath his scalp
The mirror, the liar, the candlestick maker
In light he sees true, sees the call of the moon
Sees the wolf in sheep dress
All astir all ablend, just a cloud
In a sheep-tufted land.

Rambleshak musings that I may turn one day into some sort of poem. Deal with it.

sin is the flame that melts our wax
leaves us mishapen
we cling to the warmth of the flame
and it feeds off us
burns us hollow
our beuatiful gold and silver coats
peel and blister
faint and flicker
even as we soak in its warmpth
and as we warm
we distort and flow
and pile up in rivulets until
we reach a low we cannot overcome
and when the flame is gone
we remain calcified in a state
of ruin and shrunken horror
completely incapable of ever
becomeing whole again

till God remakes us in HIs furnace
And puts a new Wick inside us
And remoulds us in HIs image
And promises that one day
When His time is come
We shall recieve a gold and silver coating
The likes of which we've never had before
Which itself will glow like the sun

They came to take away
They carried us off to the play
To be the curtain

She's most herself
When she forgets to be herself
And lets whatever
Bubble to the surface

Physical is beautiful she says
She's digging through the moments
That make up my head
She's understanding things
I forgot to forget
She has angel's wings
She has angel's wings

It's the triumph of the second over the day
I hang out my clothes to clean on the line
The sun takes all our guilt away
It evaporates
It evaporates
Into the moment

I don't think I'll ever understand her hair
The colour of living
Like life leaks out her head
If that is the price for being her
It's like buying a house for a cent
And the back lawn
And the back lawn
Still smells like fresh mowing

She's turning everything into expression
She worries that it's in the wrong direction
There's a certain kind of plughole
She strives to avoid
It blocks the sink
It blocks the sink
And floods through the kitchen

We're talking about big things till they crouch down low
She'd like to take a trip somewhere before she goes
Do something like it matters
Not just to her
She has angel wings
And living hair.