Eat to Sleep

Eat with such rambunctious joy and fervour,
that your body be weak
from the lustful throes of
tongue and teeth on cheek and palette.
Let the food moan and whisper in their grasps,
before succumbing
to that relentless push-pull that sends flavourful juices ejaculating,
streaming,  dribbling.
Down the pipe
            -gurgle-gurgle-,
some dribbling down the chin
            -worfle-gawfkle-

See what chore it is! Alas!
It is back to bed then!  Alas!
Then wake again and
eat again! Alas!

[Posted as a comment to friend’s status update about decisions]

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A Ranger’s Heart

A Ranger’s Heart

By the full moon this night,
the Ranger swears his Heart away –
his vulnerability –
his armour donned,
his sword unsheathed –
Its hilt heavenward,
A Cross he has to bear.
A final kiss unto his fingers –
A wretched fist formed
By prayerful palms –
Wrapped around a tiny dagger’s hilt.
Bejeweled mockery of
Bloodstained iron and wood,
Driven through palm and feet
Of the Son.
Come hither, Battle!
Intertwine and mix
Blood like wine,
Hands for feet and Limb for limb.
Throes furious
Mercifully copious –
Let it rain wine and beat down –
Till exhaustion take us,
One or the Other,
Though not Both.
Fear the Ranger’s hidden Charms,
Like a hidden dagger
Bejewelled, encrusted and laden
By blood, and
Thrust – Twisted tumult –
In thy gut.

Cracked

Cracked, crushed & crusted over,
Flat out, flown about, & flung away.
He lay in his bed
As the sun traversed the sky,
And thought how he would
Bake in Sol’s glorious
On another day.
Crushed – nowhere to go
Nothing to do –
Beaten down and wishing
The Scythe come hither
To take him on that
Last magical ride on his
Favorite unicorn –
Never to return,
Never to look back,
Never to awaken
But to fly fly fly.
And even now his lids
Grow heavy as She beckons.
“Take me,” he says in withered silence.
“But please,” he pleads,
“Introduce me to Unicorn,” he says,
“& burn the Bridge behind.”
Sleep mutters without lips,
And deep, sorrow filled eyes
Tell a thousand tales in a moment.
“Go now,” he hears her in his mind.
“Please,” he pleads.
“Go… I cannot decide that which you ask.
Go.”

Children of Dreamers

robots

Children of Dreamers

Hail, great Automatons!
Children of the Industrial Age and
Grand Children to the Victorian.
Hark, how they forsake their
Great Grand lineage of Dreams.

Great grandfather was a Dreamer.
He had Dreams; he sought Change
for his children’s betterment, and
so he Wandered —
Lonely as a Cloud.

In pensive Solitude he found
majesty in Simplicity.
Belittled by Nature and
humbled in Introspection,
he went forth and Changed.

Werepup

Reflections
in the dead of the night
howl so.
hair raising, blood curdling in
awesome arresting silence.
Silver drops
rain like bullets
smash onto glass
breaking cracking obliterating.
Echoes of silence ringing,
Ringing, ringing;

Ringing.

Driving;
whirring –
zhep-zhep,
Zhep-zhep
zhep-zhep.

Blip.
Eighty eight point nine?
Blip.
Ninety nine point five?
Blip.
Nighty five point zero?
Blip.
Eighty eight point …
Sod it.
Bli-blip.

Whirrrr-rrrr.
Zhep-zhep, zhep-zhep.
Exeunt number 5.
Steel up, man up, Smile.
The little trooper needs to know
daddy’s home and
everything’s gonna be a ok.
Ok?

(A-ROOooo….)