Asylum - from the asylum

 
Judgement engaged - time’s slave
slips whispers over the shoulder.
Love is the only one to never lie
those branding, burning words
that make the heart grumble
with the cold hands of the stranger’s dominion
presenting polarised arcs, of disparate monologue . . .

What the fuck . . . ?

The long day has only just begun  
& still each evening winds it down.
Still the clock keeps cutting quarters
always gathering doubles,
for the Ark.

For the what . . . ?

Limbs as arrows, chains, & beds  
supported the weighted chest with grief
& sometimes joy. Between
the islands we traverse . . .

Sounds like thighs . . .!

The vessel soaks the sun with journey
as we shed our Winter’s skin - floods
seem far away right now, yet still
the ever eye rings sight. Palladiums
of secrets - carried on caress
of hurried breeze. Kingdoms
of neighbours dissent, are all
of the same suburb on that plane!    

Airplane . . . ?

The same beaches where we bathed
& gave away dead skin, now hold
invisible sacrificial rites - they were always
there, when we were. Still tumbling
birds of prey & pride wrestle
with serpents, under luminous boughs.
& we travel - turns & tides
between these magnets. Eternite

I’m feelin’ pulled both ways . . . !

sides, by side. The age of memory
sweeps shores & provides
such force - behind the oars.
The whip crack that attempts to tame
- tumultuous pump, that billows.
Sucking only air sometimes, like
this warm Etesian breeze. A cyclone gathers
waves, where earth & sky appear.

That means we’re all gonna die, right . . . ?

But more than that, which sinks beyond
- a secular line of sight & silver
crests the Sun’s slow decline. Dawn’s
ships will still run aground. Raising night.

Raising Cain . . .!

Back on land & back in pain
the movement can seem slow.
The raging current murmurs deep
&  only serves to show . . .

The best way down, is to drown . . .

When the eye marries time to the heart’s
blind pull & the blood muscles, bones
of fingers. So cruel – to chaste & touch
with searing fire. They leave the trace
of journey’s charted scars
& the only soothing grace, it seems
- is the dam-burst flood,
of love’s lost dreams. Swimming
in that place between. Where
islands float & birds & serpents
silent scream - Esoteric psalms. At the Night

Or am I awake . . .?