Wednesday, November 3, 2010


Altered un-orientation, it is.
Destabilising but exciting nonetheless.
The little black sticks are breaking up.
Black, plastic and weak.
Neon weakness blinds sometimes.
The sinking started long before the waters rose
surprise me. surprise me. surprise my mind and what else is left inside the old house.
old houses hold a lot of secrets and broken corridors.
lying whispers run along with changed minds.
time ruins, time breaks and time bangs on the floor with a hammer made of air.
The hammer sings, loud and long.
It sings to the tuneless poems that people create.
Run, run and run to the broken corridor on the left.
Peek into the first door that you find.
the dead poet told us to shake dreams off your hair.
shake the cobwebs away and run inside the mind that you drew when I woke you up.
I tried jumping off the edge and danced instead. The dizzy madness has overtaken me
heat. the heat the heat and the heat. in the distance I see that the liquids have already married.
the awful offspring is mine now. To foster, to care and to bury.
It is a mad child.