Friday 12 November 2010

TRIP

Skin dressed; s t r e s s e d
for brushes
with fickle stain; they happen

Head down; no sound
yet; a glance 
in shabby fabric
and awkward lumps

It's free; they are here 
To dine at tables of clever moves
To drink in temples of lucky breaks
To walk upon the red carpets
of no-dance chance

I'll sit with swans
elegant and dumped
in bowls of iced-water
Stamp barefoot on hide-stakes
left by Indian friends
and delusions

It's never right
in 2.2 days
Is it 2.4 now?
Whatever ...they breed
and spread

Dissatisfaction breeds dissatisfaction
We can stand in sacking and rags
Scratching our skin
and bleeding for art
and arts sake

The music never stops
it plays the same old scene
and there is nothing here
blank it; blanket

Lose your self, become your soul
in the cinematic production
of existence
that feeds on its hungry watchers
Would it play if they walked out?
Empty house


SRWB 2010





No comments:

Post a Comment