Symptoms of God

Three six nine this tiny existence of mine

Inconsequential and insignificant insofar as

The Drama of Rama, Lord of Time,

Might define a decent life of a human kind

Illuminium cascade

Too much sugar breaks brain wave

Doomed to death from birth

All the fit and the fickle and paralysed

Lame and unheard loud and

Voiceless children of birds

You can throw against the titan tide

What are we?

Flowers standing up in the sun

Wilting in the nuclear glory of eternity

Ants picking up thrice our capacity

To try and enjoy a minute of gargantuan living

Possibility

Hilarious.

Survival mode makes people greedy and

Hell-bent on exclusivity

It’s all about who you don’t know and

What you don’t know about them

Well, they’re here!

And

She’s here

And

This is not supposed to be allowed

(But I’m free, remember?

The feeling of the scraping, digging sound of

The quill set loose

With back turned and enough fire

All at once is awful

A week of insane birth

Taking the opportunity presented to

Get out.  Lines arranged one after the other

Are not always necessary

Especially

If you abide by the bubble.

Herbal trouble and mirth,

Where did all the talent go?

Seem to have left them all behind me.

Trouble indeed.)

Escape from the something sometimes all too familiar

I’ll show you

Later

Watching the discomfort, levels of lying low,

Retracting, allowing the flow,

Relinquishing a control that was never

Mine alone.

Start stuff without wasting space; poking out

A grain of rice from its chosen place

Between the kitchen floorboards;

Relighting my cigarette in the sea wind;

Waving to the holiday-makers descending on my scene:

Some very real fears.

Quiet and industrious scattered experience and

Coffee breaks of, how do you say,

Actually, darling, right now I don’t want you

Anywhere near me...

Pray

For Karma to stay away

It’s really good to meet people out of their

Contexts

Punctuated equilibrium, sleeping with

A bloody amateur

My muse for all those sometimes dark thoughts

That need be thunk

Sun through the clouds,

At the least its form may now be perceived

Missing out

Well go on then, get out of my life!

Searching for metaphor

So the truth will not blind nor be found

Shit the shit that need be shat out

Sound the sound