When I block of the entrance
– – You moan and whine
– – and scratch at the wood panels
– – – – I let you in
– – – – You go straight back out again
I don’t want you here
– – You don’t understand, you
– – stand with your tail
– – flowing
– – – – I take you away
– – – – you come back
I chase you with a box
– – I’m only playing
– – – – You scream the world ending
– – – – scream of the finale
I am washing my hands
– – you’re in the water you’re
– – being drowned
– – – – I turn off the tap
I walk slowly to let you divert
– – you panic in a straight line
– – in the same direction, then
– – – – a car scrapes you concisely
– – – – along the tarmac
I get tired of it all and stare out of a window
– – you fly right into the window
– – and grease it up with your feather grease
– – – – alongside the grease from my forehead
– – – – on the inner panel
I sit and type
I try to relax
– – you see me stroking the computer
– – and get jealous
I’m an enigma to you
– – that doesn’t stop you crying and
– – vibrating all over me
I am running because you seem to enjoy it
– – you’re excited, you bite me
– – – – I stop running
I pick you up to take you
where you’ve been trying to get
– – You bite me and claws out
– – you run away
– – – – but not fast enough
– – – – to avoid getting a kick
Then I feel bad
but why should I?
– – you have no respect for me as a person
– – – – I hate you
– – – – I just wanted to be
– – – – your friend
Can you put the lines in order?
Can you love, and kill someone with that love?
Can you watch TV with a wry smile and think of witchcraft?
Can you fit paper into a typewriter and roll it slowly through
By pressing on the keys?
By stepping on the ledge?
Can you ring a twelve bell peal with your tongue?
Can you swing in the sea til your arms tire
And you grow as old as you ever will be?
Can you infatuate yourself with every mark you make?
And roll your rs slightly in the reading?
Can you hail onto a feeling
and fail to inscribe it by the slightest mistake. Fail.
Can you fail?
Can you be idolised faintly, saint, by a dying culture
And rest all too happy in a leery obsolescence, a personal implosion?
Can you die? When it is time?
And think on death and dying?
Can you ignore those who think that they know what you are doing?
Can you tear paper, really tear it?
Are you afraid of yourself sometimes, really afraid?
Can you burn, can you burn?
Can you burn?
Can you become righteous?
Then, poet, you can be.
Can you stand on the sea?
Mystic, can you stand on the sea?
Can you stand on the sea?
Can you see?
The authority we keep in dreams
is a very singular thing.
The words themselves do not matter
the stance we take, a vicious ring.
And we wake up holding odd beliefs
our space of reason gone to rot.
The mouth of the speaker holds the brain,
and lets it run like a ball down a grooved track
critical thought is a chaos, and dreams are not chaotic things.