The Nadir of A Career

Trapped, I once believed

In my own body, was me

We build our own cages

If we are not born into them

And find free

Something somewhere someone

In between

Now I remember my young dream

Of meeting and climbing and living

In a tree

___________

Early November experiments in finding expression for the inability to express that which is inexpressable...

(Words from YESTERDAY I SOLD MY CAR which I wrote late one night last year watching and listening to my house mate Charles playing deep house vinyls)

Alone with myself

Again in a strange place

For the first time

Angling forward

And out of it
Again

The perfected image created

At the right time

Every time

Each stone

Diamonds – let me through!

I feel the pull, the beat

The crashing of waves

Half a mile away

Speak verse, write

In symbols and colour

Nerve revival

Ascucitated.

I’m sleeping with a mirror

I do so little

And watch the ripples

Grail                       emulate

Gravitate             truncate

Rippellate

Ripalate                Rippallate

M            Rippeleight

A             Close the gate

S              Close the gate

T              Obfuscate

I               It’s way too late

K             Obtruscilate

A             Abdicate

T              Let’s set a date

E              Extrapolate

Permission for superstition

SUPASTISHUN

Shun ! Shun the DARK

Receive the Light!

The Holiest of Holies – Light

Peeping Toms wake watchful young women

Watchers

Watchwymen

Then stop.  How do you stop them?

Wait for other watchers

Then give in

You're being watched

By your own wanting eyes

Roolah!  Uriah Jah!

Glove compartments and cubbyholes

Yes, more holes

(holes or wholes)

Flashlights and torches

Playing with P.L.A.N.K.S.

Decimate

Dessimate

Finish it, then

Wake up into the day

And simply be

Without anything

Before picking up

Any foreign brand

For as long as you can

Oh, 

Deliver us already, 

Please

__________________________

(your reflection attempting to find itself a space to exist in between the bits of burned posters, old drawings & a monoprint, photographs, doodles, cartoons, cardboard, wood, photocopies, a Robert Mapplethorpe postcard, prestik, string and magic marker on the mirror above the TV in my lounge, with the smell of charred paper, dust and ocean air)