Revision 2/12/11 (Thanks Todd 
)
i.
The owl sat the pussycat on his knee
and said “little girl, won’t you come with me
to a wonderful candyland fantasy
where I’ll do as I please, for no-one shall see.”
ii.
Paint me inside your head
striped red
dangling kittenish on silken thread
tongue engorged, carcass bled
iii.
caveat emptor
iv.
You thought my fame would let you lie
upon a feather bed, not rise
for trivia like babies’ cries
or doubt that shut out half the sky.
You stole from me that cold July.
Two minutes in between my thighs;
the embryo that would arise
was doubt that shut out half the sky.
And in the end, it passed me by,
that elder dream that turned my eyes
within; what kind of fool relies
on doubt that shuts out half the sky?
The kited dragon cannot fly
when tethered; so by toothed surprise
she snaps and breaks the hated ties
to doubt, and soars to claim the sky.
v.
There was shit on my shoe
and I licked it off
thinking it was toffee
Remembering the times
I should have wiped you on the kerb
but licked you off
instead
vi.
With saccharine smiles they mouth “artist”
into irrelevance, somewhere below the packages
for their tv dinners
They, with their Strawberry Shortcake imaginations
sugar flakes on instant replay
with clichés cut up to there
We leave them alone
But they scurry behind us
Begging for scraps to turn into foetid misconception
Longing to think we care enough
To be offended by their disregard
Never dreaming that their universe
Is far too small to register in our view
And we feel nothing
Not even contempt
For those who will never rise
vii.
Stationary days
As the organ plays
Alone
Sunlight set ablaze
Burning with clichés
Outgrown
Crippled elder phrase
Dreams of ways to raise
The tone
Wanders through the maze
Softly sings his praise
To stone
Sheep of silence graze
As the future stays
Unknown
viii.
As I must die, let it be like Pericles. Let fever dreams and
gastric leakage drown the truth I do not want to know: that one
who can stand the higher dictates of distant gods
is utterly debased by the greatness of man.
Let the quiet delirium descend, that the daimon may
dance me puppetwise above the charnel streets; lift me clear of eternal
stagnation, to dine with Aristophanes, laughing sideways at the clouds.
_____________________________________________________________
Original 1/12/11
i.
The owl sat the pussycat on his knee
and said “little girl, won’t you come with me
to a wonderful candyland fantasy
where I’ll do as I please, for no-one shall see.”
ii.
Paint me inside your head
striped red
dangling kittenish on silken thread
tongue engorged, carcass bled
iii.
caveat emptor
iv.
You thought my fame would let you lie
upon a feather bed, not rise
for trivia like babies’ cries
or doubt that shut out half the sky.
You stole from me that cold July.
Two minutes in between my thighs;
the embryo that would arise
was doubt that shut out half the sky.
And in the end, it passed me by,
that elder dream that turned my eyes
within; what kind of fool relies
on doubt that shuts out half the sky?
The kited dragon cannot fly
when tethered; so by toothed surprise
she snaps and breaks the hated ties
to doubt, and soars to claim the sky.
v.
There was shit on my shoe
and I licked it off
thinking it was toffee
Savouring taste and texture
and the only thing stopping it going down
was the bile rising to drown it
Remembering the times
I should have wiped you on the kerb
but licked you off
instead
vi.
With saccharine smiles they mouth “artist”
into irrelevance, somewhere below the packages
for their tv dinners
They, with their Strawberry Shortcake imaginations
sugar flakes on instant replay
with clichés cut up to there
We leave them alone
But they scurry behind us
Begging for scraps to turn into foetid misconception
Longing to think we care enough
To be offended by their disregard
Never dreaming that their universe
Is far too small to register in our view
And we feel nothing
Not even contempt
For those who will never rise
vii.
Stationary days
As the organ plays
Alone
Sunlight set ablaze
Burning with clichés
Outgrown
Crippled elder phrase
Dreams of ways to raise
The tone
Wanders through the maze
Softly sings his praise
To stone
Sheep of silence graze
As the future stays
Unknown
viii.
As I must die, let it be like Pericles. Let fever dreams and
gastric leakage drown the truth I do not want to know: that one
who can stand the higher dictates of distant gods
is utterly debased by the greatness of man.
Let the quiet delirium descend, that the daimon may
dance me puppetwise above the charnel streets; lift me clear of eternal
stagnation, to dine with Aristophanes, laughing sideways at the clouds.
*This is absolutely a work in progress, so please don't hold back on any criticism -- it doesn't hang together properly yet and all suggestions will be most gratefully received*
)i.
The owl sat the pussycat on his knee
and said “little girl, won’t you come with me
to a wonderful candyland fantasy
where I’ll do as I please, for no-one shall see.”
ii.
Paint me inside your head
striped red
dangling kittenish on silken thread
tongue engorged, carcass bled
iii.
caveat emptor
iv.
You thought my fame would let you lie
upon a feather bed, not rise
for trivia like babies’ cries
or doubt that shut out half the sky.
You stole from me that cold July.
Two minutes in between my thighs;
the embryo that would arise
was doubt that shut out half the sky.
And in the end, it passed me by,
that elder dream that turned my eyes
within; what kind of fool relies
on doubt that shuts out half the sky?
The kited dragon cannot fly
when tethered; so by toothed surprise
she snaps and breaks the hated ties
to doubt, and soars to claim the sky.
v.
There was shit on my shoe
and I licked it off
thinking it was toffee
Remembering the times
I should have wiped you on the kerb
but licked you off
instead
vi.
With saccharine smiles they mouth “artist”
into irrelevance, somewhere below the packages
for their tv dinners
They, with their Strawberry Shortcake imaginations
sugar flakes on instant replay
with clichés cut up to there
We leave them alone
But they scurry behind us
Begging for scraps to turn into foetid misconception
Longing to think we care enough
To be offended by their disregard
Never dreaming that their universe
Is far too small to register in our view
And we feel nothing
Not even contempt
For those who will never rise
vii.
Stationary days
As the organ plays
Alone
Sunlight set ablaze
Burning with clichés
Outgrown
Crippled elder phrase
Dreams of ways to raise
The tone
Wanders through the maze
Softly sings his praise
To stone
Sheep of silence graze
As the future stays
Unknown
viii.
As I must die, let it be like Pericles. Let fever dreams and
gastric leakage drown the truth I do not want to know: that one
who can stand the higher dictates of distant gods
is utterly debased by the greatness of man.
Let the quiet delirium descend, that the daimon may
dance me puppetwise above the charnel streets; lift me clear of eternal
stagnation, to dine with Aristophanes, laughing sideways at the clouds.
_____________________________________________________________
Original 1/12/11
i.
The owl sat the pussycat on his knee
and said “little girl, won’t you come with me
to a wonderful candyland fantasy
where I’ll do as I please, for no-one shall see.”
ii.
Paint me inside your head
striped red
dangling kittenish on silken thread
tongue engorged, carcass bled
iii.
caveat emptor
iv.
You thought my fame would let you lie
upon a feather bed, not rise
for trivia like babies’ cries
or doubt that shut out half the sky.
You stole from me that cold July.
Two minutes in between my thighs;
the embryo that would arise
was doubt that shut out half the sky.
And in the end, it passed me by,
that elder dream that turned my eyes
within; what kind of fool relies
on doubt that shuts out half the sky?
The kited dragon cannot fly
when tethered; so by toothed surprise
she snaps and breaks the hated ties
to doubt, and soars to claim the sky.
v.
There was shit on my shoe
and I licked it off
thinking it was toffee
Savouring taste and texture
and the only thing stopping it going down
was the bile rising to drown it
Remembering the times
I should have wiped you on the kerb
but licked you off
instead
vi.
With saccharine smiles they mouth “artist”
into irrelevance, somewhere below the packages
for their tv dinners
They, with their Strawberry Shortcake imaginations
sugar flakes on instant replay
with clichés cut up to there
We leave them alone
But they scurry behind us
Begging for scraps to turn into foetid misconception
Longing to think we care enough
To be offended by their disregard
Never dreaming that their universe
Is far too small to register in our view
And we feel nothing
Not even contempt
For those who will never rise
vii.
Stationary days
As the organ plays
Alone
Sunlight set ablaze
Burning with clichés
Outgrown
Crippled elder phrase
Dreams of ways to raise
The tone
Wanders through the maze
Softly sings his praise
To stone
Sheep of silence graze
As the future stays
Unknown
viii.
As I must die, let it be like Pericles. Let fever dreams and
gastric leakage drown the truth I do not want to know: that one
who can stand the higher dictates of distant gods
is utterly debased by the greatness of man.
Let the quiet delirium descend, that the daimon may
dance me puppetwise above the charnel streets; lift me clear of eternal
stagnation, to dine with Aristophanes, laughing sideways at the clouds.
*This is absolutely a work in progress, so please don't hold back on any criticism -- it doesn't hang together properly yet and all suggestions will be most gratefully received*
It could be worse
