Still

i could be screaming these words, or whispering them like silk and soft. But you got no idea, without my murmuring voice to tell you, these words don't mean jack.

sublime

And what about him. Sitting on the bench lit bright in Julys predeceasing sun. Young puppies fell all over each other near by, some say that the artificial brunette with the stolen oversized coat use to be his spiritual sister. He knew, she use to tell him. And like all big brothers, casual dismissal. Now you look at her with your wrathy smile expecting her bones to light up; you even plan ahead the conversation of answers written and known. But it is not known that today, she will not fall over every other, but stand tall with a sleaze in heels and dismiss your knowing smile. She turns away, but you expect it is just the well-known double hesitation before conversation of an old friend. Name the butterfly before it hatches. The scared hare drags her down the aisle and buries her in his rabbit hole away in damp mud and greens. Maybe they see you as a wasted crazy.

This was reactionary news to my brain. Now I gotta sit up straight, smile and spit towards the future to turn it all around.

For a contented future has no use to anyone.

Ah but you hypocrite shouter and screamer of your own older man, mon frère. Go far and gain respect, and wallow in a new family. You hate family, but you love to grow new bones.

Funeral Party

slow suit and tie dancing. Why not jump into a field of butter yellow daffodils? Well when you land it's a tube of water, a deep tub of cold.
A beautiful lamb falls in with you, she's 17 and you feel your clothes slide off. For a while, you hold each other as white and scared pieces of a whole. As you learn to press against each others thin skin, you understand the warmth between one another and begin to direct the arms, moving one hand up, dragging water to the cheek bone, and another reaching downwards softly for hollow. If you open your eyes after, you find yourself in the deep freezer, going down.

I'd never trade anything for you

is one of the worst sentences in tender communication. I'm supposing that this person you slur it out as the gin hits the table on early saturday morning, is a person you dearly care about. Supposing they have realised this, i'm pretty sure they wouldn't need you to reassure them that there may be a time in the future where if an offer does come up, they might be on the cards to be exchanged for something pointless and shiny.

If you have to bring that point up, this person now muses, 'Wow, never thought being objectified and then transferred indignantly to a new soulless owner was a possibility in this relationship'. They then may look at you and question what competition they now have, embarking them into a spiral of paranoia and low self-esteem in comparison to that other one who may be better because they had those legs that hair who's there not scared what not no not shocks.

i think

they watch as their fields of crops are rotting under the heavy sun they walked beyond for hours, picking up the plough, starting again under the burning, your burning your tongue on some microwave meal, with it's 3 types of vegetable, pruned tomato, paste of pea, and some equisite onion flavouring. As you pick up the paper to read of the all the loss of money, you still pay the man for it and move away in horror. He still searches for the paper to write upon. The paper to post cheques telling us everything will be alright; and we're still complaining. The king sits upon a wooden chair in the jungle. We arrive as survivors on tour, with only cheap versions of the latest fuji camera. We take pictures of things we can send back home, making clear they had arrived by reading the reciept, pictures that stir emotion. Someone holds a poloroid up to a friend proudly, 'I felt empathy today. I did'. Empathy in terror, believing it was only because the king of the jungle had run out of gold that he sat poised still in a tree-based throne. Poor man, no cushion.

i think, we should chill out with our money, honey, i'm home.

Confidence

He was embellishly smart. Jazz in court, smoother topple to the guilt thought and shame of a runner. Do you like my tongue your honour? As a whisper in licks of long shouting, I see you with frazzled grey hair distant, red chips
poutin.
Gee cruelty in de adelaide cold summer stammer when
he cries out you slam your hammer but to stop the tub and feel the rub ay theres no trouble if you follow the date in which the bitch came over and made rubble of these please pleas you céta a leaz.
Lawyer screw me away, give my life another day. Beat me up and
make me cold, but
don't make me wait
until i'm
told.

I paint two men as we fight

If we don’t act now, we’ll be set in stone as unactable. Your body grows and then one day it stops growing, what if that day is the day you were left alone and filled with malice? Are you frozen in that shape forever more?

I want to use this boat to get away from everything that says you have to be part of something when i’m not a part of something. I’m my own, and I’ll only be free to be so when i leave those who disagree behind.*

*This one dies at sea and becomes part of its soul. The other who holds him back, the younger brother of a friend, stays and enjoys it.

a few tickets.

Second team picks up the baseball bat without hesitation. All strung out across whipped wire, it's the floor of royal blue and smeared white hope. No thanks darling, though beautiful colour your lipstick. They flew fists so fast across the field they couldn't even feel their legs anymore, looking across into the unknown stands of toothed faces, tilting and smiling, where were his parents? Under some freeway; maybe if I hit the ball real hard, the wind will be so impressed it'll let it ride on the flow of it's unhindered airwaves. Some white rider, hurtling towards a clockwork of grey and pale cars, freely tumbling towards the windscreen of some ladies family wagon.

Maybe they use to know what it meant to hit that hard, but ultimately, it doesn't matter because none of you play ball anymore.