from one to one
to be self-defined
held in some regard
judged to have erred
Bollox to the stream of consciousness
It is but a passing trend
Like all things to all people
The idea of a solid mass
The idea of first and last!
Grumbling we go, into the arbitrary distance,
Dimensions decided beforehand
Your edges and my centre
A clasped ornament dearly held,
And a thermos flask sending steaming tea into the gullet
All specifics are sentimental!
Do you choose now,
To abide by the rules
Whatever they are?
Can I redefine the game so that it cannot be lost?
Will the faith leap to me,
Or am I forever bound to this wheeling limbo,
this crippling independence,
this crushing freedom,
caught in the act of decision
held cannot and never released.
The last post…
These winds could be blowing
from anywhere to anywhere
But in this cold house
they just turn pages of unread books
and whip the curtains from their hooks.
They could be whirling about your home,
Soothing reminder of the cosiness of safety
the blowing whisper of violent nature
I will publish this mess!
Complete with mistakes and unedited,
It is the last post, there is no time for changes!
But noone will read it, more to the point
It is already swallowed by the hollow vacumn of everything
How can a candle be seen in a forest flame?
Light on light
Dark on dark
follow the tune
from the spark
Tomorrow we will all start again,
counting up or counting down
desparing at the growing distances
and the savage decay of what we love
there are lessons in the future
lessons of the past
the wind outside is of course the present,
but no gift to the roving eye
for only in the third party frozen nothing of objective sight
is anything anything
all is flux
but to whom or or Whom?
time and consciousness chime
art and beuracray at war
the pastic wrapping must come of the weapons
and we must retreat into the woods
and the wind
always the wind
to beat about the rambings
and complain that nothing is being said,
nothing is being said again and as usual
while the smirkers that don’t know the difference
are content to be just as wise and ignorant
beatiful and ugly
I cannot control that damned flow
You may have noticed!
Can you focus your very being
Do you exist?
Do you ask?
WooHoo! Number fifty two,
I made it for you!
Maybe fifty three,
Will be made for me!