bip bop (lonely) future

stip

step

boots

stampeding

over

plastified

cellophane

faces

 

blip

blop

ro-

bots

you forgot

the smell

of books replaced by

blink, blink,

blank

screams

blank ego

inflation

(followed by deflation)

bright

light

bite my pride

like my fluorescent

lies.

 

scrip

scrap,

wrap

the world up

with

me

me

me.

 

mommy where are

the fish?

(the ocean seems

far too empty)

oh honey,

no matter,

only we exist (now)

scrip

scrap

the rest.

 

it’s only

us

us

us

and maybe

a bit

of

bip

bop

ro-bots…

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christmas

winter, here,

 

snowflakes moulded

out of the fire

from our

thud,

thudding

hearts

turning hot

chocolate lukewarm

like hands

jingling and dangling

over a pine tree,

needles made out

of comfort

and compassion,

contentment

and the little pleasures

of tingling cold

turning

old freckles

gold

bold cheeks,

fiery red

 

you’ll pour

kindness threefold,

we’ll sing songs

untold,

a stream of golden

harmonies,

swaying to strums

of human souls expressed

by throats or

Instruments,

 

blissfulness

 

hold on to

aroma of sweet

savoury

book spines,

gold vines,

mug stained letters

woven into

sweaters…

exhale,

bonfire

and

inhale

soft

freshly

baked

tenderness of the moment,

 

 

sinking into leather sofas

caster sugar,

and the smell of christmas

 

open all your doors

let your souls dangle and waltz

the stage is all yours

acid & tender.

tender airplane

lamps,

stretching

arms

grasping seemingly for

something,

yet nothing.

 

acid like my

reflection.

5 lamps stuck to

each side of the mirror

so I can better

hunch into furrows

I’ve dug in my

dreams

of you.

 

Acid like covering

your ears

when flushing,

in that tiny

gasoline

toilet

cubicle.

 

All this trudging

of feet to find

a recognisable head,

TV screen,

“oh that’s my seat?”

 

in tampering darkness.

 

Acid spreading like this

cycle treading

takes over my

migraines-

soon I realise

 

it’s all tenderness

compared to my thought

of you. Whispers

of you

even on this modern,

apathetic,

emotionless

plane.

(yet you still creep in)

 

3 movies, 6 hours.

Inevitably, like a

prisoner paralysed

by their own

choices

watching

pixelated lovers

circling other lovers:

I’m wearing coloured

lenses, filtering

all these loves with

past versions

of you and more

of you.

 

I wish it could all stop

because it’s blinding

me from the true

experience of

a simple,

tender,

airplane ride.

 

They distribute

perfectly marvellously, moist

lukewarm towels.

Distracted only for

a few flying

fleeting seconds

before heat scampers

into frigidness.

 

i think i just

miss your heat to the

point where it’s

neither

tender

nor

acid?

 

so before landing

i’ll let my acid love

spread up my legs

 

(i really don’t know

how you find tenderness in it,

darling)

.

Munich, time to turn

the hour hand back.

 

AGENT OF SELECTION

“experimentally

assessing

the need

of such agent”

 

agent of

selection,

the hands pulling

your strings

you realise,

you have no spine

no skyline

nothing divine

just sloppy

soppy

floppy

veins bending

(regulated)

blood flow

 

agent of

selection,

you were never

the one

in control

run back

before the patrol,

make sure to

disintegrate your

soul

 

agent

of selection,

and so “the organisms

that are better suited to their

environment

survive

 

the pressure”

 

pressures that

squeeze you into

a drop of oil:

pull, tug and

grind you up into

a canned shaped

compressed

version of meat,

not you

anymore.

they’ll put a

label on this

can:

not your name

but your

dolla

dolla

bill

worth

 

agent

of selection,

only the

most suited

survive

so open your mouth

and give them numbers

upon numbers

of only the highest percentile

promised of

how you’re

“flexible”

“adaptable”

“always ready to

learn”

 

 

3 words

to describe

yourself,

tell me about

your biggest

challenge

prove

prove

prove

you’re worth survival

in this maze

of green paper

 

“selective agent

picking

the

better

suited

for the environment”

 

between

two tectonic plates

small organism,

will you survive?

 

between

polished shoes and

ticking time bombs,

small organism,

will you survive?

 

will you survive?

will you survive?

will you survive?

let the wound open

yesterday

was worst than

a blizzard

but it

cracked open

a pill i didn’t

know i had gulped

down

and so it gushed

open like

a wound

and i realised

i was out of plasters

 

 

and i scrambled

for tape or

cloth or anything

that could stop

this bleeding

of

accusations

inflations of

future

deflations

revelations

probations (mostly)

 

 

and so i tried

running-

skin against

wisps of wind

and rain

hoping that snake

bite would get

caught between

my huffs and

puffs

and melt away

 

 

but instead

it spread like acid

like inadequacy diluted

with who i want to be

and this whole

time I’m asking

why i’m not who

i want to be

and why i still

can’t talk the right

perfect way

and why everything is

not yet quite perfect

so the mind goes

on a merry-go round

and these thoughts

bleed

spew out

laugh

spit in my face

 

 

i’ll keep

spitting blood

i’ll keep breaking

the veins in my nose

so all i smell is iron

and rust

 

 

finally i give up

on bandaids and

running and let

the wound open

this time i’m holding

a magnifying glass

not a gun

i’m not ready to

fight or

fly

may you be

may you be

chartreuse liqueur

makes a small den

in the space between us,

wrapping itself up

into a small cocoon

to then slowly have itself

unravel

by my hands-

your hands

 

so as we unravel

and as it unravels

i find myself pinpointing,

us, on a great big

map

dotted lines suggest

where we were

where we’ve been

and it’s one long winding

road, tainted by the same

chartreuse lamps

 

sitting between the

rocks and your legs,

humming

 

too often i find myself

realising

the traced pencil marks

(on the map)

of places we could go

maybe on bike

or car or train

maybe with money or without

maybe the trip

is all in our mind.

so it’s all maybe there

or somewhere else

maybe i would like that

maybe not really

 

my limbs, tangled between

“may” and “be”

and i look up,

back to you,

and start thinking

 

you’re may,

you’re newborn summer

fresh and dirty

full of bee’s buzzing

and may you be

my

emerald birthstone or

simply the sudden rainfalls

you’ll still be buzzing with

that life that reminds me of

may. reminds me

of the day i was born

so i can be born over and

over again everytime

we sit side by side,

small little bee

in may,

you remind me of –

 

may you be

that

or something

else,

or

maybe,

just let me

envelope you.

 

maybe i love how you’re

maybe this or maybe that

remain undefineable

i find that entrancing-

to put it bluntly-

 

(and to put it more bluntly,

every time you’re here,

you surprise me with something

new,

 

a new way of seeing:

like im wearing glasses for the first

time

over and over

again)

spring clearing

polish our kitchen

tiles;

they gleam with

incandescent

neon

green

 

 

clean up the mess up

from the floor

made by the cat

 

 

clean the air between

us

clean my dirty hands

in the presence

of your purifying look

 

 

i’ll clean the mirror

for you

and as I wipe that

reflecting surface

i’ll wipe your tears

and ropes

of hope

 

 

break my mug in the

process,

pick the bits up

only between early morning

and the town outside the

silent windowpanes starts

its engine

 

 

bit by bit

we clean the kitchen

bit by bit

breathe in sliding

socks over marble

and sinks with running

water:

finally the plants

have something

to drink

 

 

spring clearing

your soul,

all those dirty bits

like beer cans

left behind by tainted

people

don’t let them

stay for too long

dear

or the mirror

will get  too

dirty

 

 

not that i mind

coming over

every morning

to feed the

cat.