Time

Maze of tiny golden grains
Sand of aged wizards and these
Merlin-concepts of wishes
Repeated and lost
Repeated and lost in swelling
Magnificent undulations of thirsty history
Hungering always forever for
The next moment- or last
Until spun out into milky-way
Nothingness
Space of supreme stillness
World of no time- not left
Nor to come, just peace always
Elusive chrysalis of self, rare
Locked inside for the time when
One is only time.


Music- Florence And The Machine- Cosmic Love


xxx

Je Ne Parle Pas Francais

From burning train tracks framed molten in rustic rusting glory
To oracular globes of sweat, glassy in claustrophobic Parisian rooms,
I come to an edge new and real, am reborn groin first into
Relief, which even in this heart-wilderness is pure potent pleasure-love
And the acrid smell of raw humanity heavy in air, the sex of lungs.
These premonitions of failure- apocalytpic nonchalance bringing us
Down again to cling to wrought-iron balconies, dizzyling high over
Screaming mopeds in throbbing veins of city backstreets, pendulous over
Fathomless depths of red debate.

This fleshy fragility masked in pools of smoke which faintly warm
Latuin Quarter bars ceaselessly visited by strangers who leak in and out
Of our lives, like the wine through the cracks in our crusted lips
And collapsed smiles, finding forever to play the struggling artist,
Disgustingly in our game of affluence and amateur politics.

The body, the mind, is all of these things and yet none;
Lost in lonely singular peak, one moment in the prairies of time and
This hope you search for endlessly in my futureless eyes.



Music- Inna- Hot

xxx