The people had judged you and have found you wanting, but they didn't detect what you have in store for them.
They were wrong.
What you had, you had kept a a most deep secret, so that they could not erase all of you.
When it comes, they will be all swept away.
Where I go, there again
too and fro , back and forth around in circles
square dancing in tired triangles
take your head along a body bicycle
route unknown, trying to out wit the very wheels
whipping your body along lanes lined with icy dread
treading in circles
cycling backwards reversing up and mounting pavements
peculiar shapes bumping along broken and battered statements
staying with it only to veer wildly off into a thicket
scrambling to understand the mumbles lines praying for
some kind of saving agent, ageing, waiting for sane moments
I'm not crazy.
I just can't outrun my brain.
Mechanical pulse grates like granite boulders;
blocks, rocks; frozen rigid shoulders
spines and neural passages passing
the time inert, passively;
parsing repeating memories
removing particles in miles -out extremities
extruding free radicals, finally freed,
exuding radical ideas and emboldened mind seeds.
Thud thud thud goes the blood stream.
A headache crown on top of a spinal dream.
Pitch sharp crystal glass crashing alarm bells ringing
pummelling frontal wall in your face gnashing
eyes bulging shouting at dogs barking blaming
basically nothing on no-one
the noise is only children playing
I suck at this , that , those, writing prose;
pretending to know , yet not knowing but smiling
yet not smiling, a dead-eyed doze , feet tapping
a thousand tap tap tap -dance , jiggling knees , twitching toes
eyes flicking flickering , bony elbows
digging in , scraping on sandpaper pillows.
closed stone apertures , dingy gaps , cave holes
tightly snapped , gripped, tracking apps
retracting back, trying to close
swallow grit down with pints of snow
swallows emerge from nested shallows
shielding, .. yet viral shadows follow.
Bone marrow, borrowed from tomorrow's
blood transfusions, infused with blood red sorrow.
Not the same old too -and-frow.. oh no...
Go for a walk, tread the same tired steps away from
dread. Wash your inside face in alcohol.
Numb the feeling , strum the rails , clasp tightly
to bony walls. You can't leave it at home.
Its there in your head silly boy.
Stagger across a road, almost run over by a red
speeding wheelbarrow. Get back in the hedge
a leafy hug and place to hide and join Swallow
in it's nest.
Curtain drawing across beating chest
vision draping , curling wings like feathered fingers
getting ready to sing. Better think of something.
This head needs a new tune , a new ring tone
and a new head for this body to follow.
Come this way , meander that way
but stay off of the same old road.
A year of writing the same old .
Drawing the same old.
just looking for a hand to hold.
gull sweeps sleigh figure eights
escaped , wind unabated
breezing , blasting cloud into strange shapes
this one an ape , that one a rat impaled in a morbid twist of fate
shouldn't have entered the trap, mate
now pouring towards the earth like a savage dart
dragged downwards in a steep arc
a family in a park, someone parking a car
someone opening a jar of hate
dark dogs barking themselves into a stalemate
gull can relate
railing at a mirror image in a lake
Narcissus finding his soul mate
a Trumpian character trait
a deadly virus waits
sick ache swirling mind
a seed planted from a news web site
roots take hold tight and even more tightly
snaking around nose, mouth and eyes.
Treason fields teasing yields unforseen forsaken tolls
taken and taking amid languid raking strolls breezing through fake weekends
leaping weeks and lurching months concealed amid four dour walls;
ceilings pressing, faces pressed flat to dirty glass windows,
straining to see an end to unrelenting isolation or any hopeful signs
of Heroes leading nations yet to emerge from shallow turgid doldrums.
No leaders emerge but the usual misleading scourges regurgitating hurtful words
designed to divide and subdivide villages and town halls.
Still its worth remembering where it all emerged from,
Foisting primitive urges, urging on a resurgent purge of all words and deeds worthy
of civilised discourse. . in the worship of wealth.
No use in forging alliances or embracing old friends until a malign Virus
forces us to return to the mirror of life, to stare our selves in full force of true
by Paul Sinclair