A chain of thorns

A chain of thorns
In the needles of your eyes
Living with it
Living with the pain in your heart
The putty of your heart
The broken glazing
Seeing, clothed like a pterodactyl

A chain of thorns
Dripping from your fingernails
A bracelet of barbed wire with a locket
Of a miniature portrait
Of your love

Like a nude lady whale
Or a clown with a ruby red nose


The black rose

Is as good
Or as bad
As a dream

You wake up
Out of that
Black rose
In your head

To the black rose
Of a long winters’ night
To a black rose
Of anger

It’s true
You can’t change it
When you are
The prisoner

Of reality
And like in an amphitheatre
Of bloodshed
You are
The entertainment

A bad (or good) dream is exactly like reality, and reality is like a bad (or good) dream.


They say that I’m a dreamer
But I’ve never had enough time
They said I was a dreamer
But I never had enough time
To capture sunlight in the window
To capture love I hoped was mine

I may have spent my whole life
Loving you
But what can I do?
I’m just a dreamer

It was in a window
I’ll never see again
It was in a window
I’ll never see again
I lost it
That’s why I’m a dreamer

True window gazing is an art. Yet, we’re made to feel it’s a waste of time.

Fly in the saucer

I’ve got your rainbow sister
I’ve got your rainbow
I’ve got your rainbow handlebars
I’ve got your skipping rope shadow blues
I’ve got your cleft lip
I’ve got our colour palette
I’ve got your mushroom penal colony
I’ve got your coral reef meltdown blues

Fly in the saucer
Is looking at me
Paperback novel murder
Cry on the border
Ice cream in the sand
Bible dream disorder
The vulture takes you by the hand

I’ve got your mouth-watering pastilles
I’ve got your magnet dear
I’ve got you contrasted octaves
And I drink your wedding cake blues
I’ve got you halfway
Between the sea and the sky
I’ve got you like a leather bubble
As the snow clown rides by

Fly in the saucer
In the bowl of your eye
Fly in the saucer
Fly, flying by

I had some music on, by Incubus, a rock band, and I found myself writing to it.

The ghost way

Each side of the motorway
He saw a ghost way

Crystal blue streams
Of transparency
Just above the hedge

Things were moving
Faster than cars
Shapes of all kinds
Living things
In a hurry
Along the ghost way

It came to mind at first that the people who die in accidents, their spirits, who they really are, could be haunting the side of the motorway in a special lane of their own.

I stop asking why now

I stop asking why now
I ask is it right

It’s right
That they say
It’s right

But is it

With a hollow shell
With emptiness

A Paper full of right
Full of monsters
Saying the right thing
That right is right

In response
It is right
It is the right response
The mouth is right
The tongue is right
But what is the right thing?
Bottom line

It doesn’t matter
Black and white
It is right
That it is right

Watching the live broadcasts from Parliament, I notice that a new saying has crept into the speech. when introducing a new bill or something they keep saying “it is right, therefor that we do this thing” or something similar. Of course, experience tells us that it is not always right, or that it can go wrong. It seems arrogance really to set themselves as knowing the right and wrong of everything, isn’t it playing god?