roving

the eye haunts me
not by itself
but by what it represents
watching you watching me watched by me
and flickering, whites showing
staring sideways and i can only see
nothing but you seeing
nothing
surrounded by the inky blackness
of blind celluloid
of the past
worlds of universes ago
when we made order out of chaos
at show and tell

[inspiration]

downstairs, in the back

the four grim men in dark suits and ties step smartly into the tiny back room, sliding into place around the green felt table with a deck of cards in its center, circled by the light of the lamp hanging low above it. a petit, dark haired lady gracefully walks in after them carrying a tray holding four neat colour-coded stacks, and sets one before each of the men before leaving the room, the door closing and only the grinding of a worn deadbolt piercing the silence.

the first man picks up the cards, and time slows to a crawl as he shuffles, the cards slowly arcing through the air, gliding into place as the deck is slowly rolled, gleaming in the dim light, and cut slowly before the process is repeated.

each card is flicked to one of the men, the room and the faces of the men spinning around it as it floats through the stale air until it lands with a gentle, fatal thump.

then time turns back to full pace, then faster, then faster as the game begins, the four figures stationary even as the table spins round and around behind them, cards landing and folding, chips rising and falling.

and then time turns back to its regular grace. the stacks are almost evenly low, except for the first man: he gathers his cards, and as he registers the two aces peaking up at him the light begins to flicker, and a low vibration begins to shake the table and chairs.

there is a moment in which nobody dares to breath, as the vibrations turn more and more violent and then the men are forced out of their chairs, the cards and chips leaping about as the light jangles on its parabolic arc, lighting the action in fits and starts. and just as suddenly as it began, it ends. the lamp slowly rocks itself still, the men right their chairs and take their seats without any regard to the chips and the cards strewn about the table and floor.

"whyyy have you sssummoned me?" hissed a whispered voice, seeming to come from the center of the table. "whaaat wasss my crime?" the voice said again, now sounding faintly louder as an unholy mist began to form in the lamp's light, rippling in circles and slowly forming patterns, faces, then one face that spoke in regular tones: "you have woken me, my lords, and i hear and obey".

taste, don't swallow

the sugar melts around my tongue
washing the underside
with oblivion
before accumulating enough wave
to glide smoothly down my throat
and then i'm back

for more.

mid-way through my service...

they give me a gun
then they take it away
things that go click in its place

they give me a broom
i'm a gutter tycoon
i'm old and i'm young, i've no face

to do me a kindness
they make my life hard
then they smile and they say "it's alright"

but i sit here outside
without any light
through a restless, and lonely, cold night

they tease me with girls
while they cancel my thrills
and they throw food at me i can't eat

they tell me i'm fine
that i haven't crossed a line
but they know now that they've got me beat

time's ticking slowly
but at least it's not stopped
and it's not like it's not any fun

but the first chance i get
and as soon as i can
i'm making a break and i'll run

[original post]

invitation only

the baboon's cage is solid gold
the zookeeper guards the gate
you can't get in if you're not on the list
now empty your pockets right onto this plate
if we've taken it all, well, then come right on in
just don't take off your jacket, that's a cardinal sin
please do have a seat sir, we'll begin really soon
as the minutes tick by, you can hum to the tune
of the whistling and winking as the baboons troop in
as they each take a seat round the tables of tin
ooh, ooh, ooh, said the silverback, thumping the table
oh, oh, oh, clapped his neighbour, his hair glossy and sable
the silverback, sated, jumped up, glared about
thumped his chest, before dragging his knuckles on out

as he left through the exit, a murmur began
but the sable son razzed them to silence and then
he crumpled some paper, scratched his back with his pen
took a dump on his table just to show that he can
now there was much applause, as the next speaker farted
and then waved a banana, which was how things got started
there was food fighting, poo flinging, screeches and screams
then the troop split themselves into two scary teams
each team making a stand, clambering up on the sides
the cage shaking with violence, with gestures and cries
is there anyone here that recalls how to talk?
how to shake hands, to smile, to share peace-making lies?

back to basics

poppies are red,
now that roses are blue:
you can call them "applause",
but i'll call them "more true"

for drugs are now love
now that love's been sold out;
lately candy and flowers
are mere causes to doubt

[applause is the new red]

the 35th meeting

i haven't been here that long, but long enough to call it tradition. or habitual. it's like a carton of cigarettes, by the time you've gotten into it enough to be addicted it's too late to realize that you don't earn enough to pay for it and food.

so they finally get to me, after round after round of outpourings of the most intimate sort, and even the most undesirable of undesirables scores a warm "hey, man..."

the room focuses on me. and they say "hey, man". then they tie me to my chair, duct-tape my mouth shut, and begin to beat me into submission.