Have You Got The World Under Your Feet?
Remote control believer,
a new emotion to try,
to try and hide.
Astro-biological birth control,
counting the moons back,
to your mother’s first breath,
because she says so.
A time to embrace,
a time not to embrace.
Preparation for the performance,
sleeping,
under the heavens.
“Be quiet,” my anger scolds me.
Unprocessed goods,
waiting to exchange
the pain
of reality´s
hits and wins.
Smashing pumpkin seeds to bits,
like a dynamite hairdo,
all fat and wet.
He spoke softly of his nightmare,
“Ok, all right, steady on.”
Pushing earths legal boundaries
to assess what we have left.
A time for flowers, or not?
Goals to aim for;
trusting the magnetic north pole.
A safe envelope of fire,
hidden secrets of desire.
The wind blows my thoughts
in the direction of love.
I inquire as to who it is,
but never believe the natural bliss
because the comedown will fall.
I shall be a mountain in Nepal.
Like trying to make smoke go downwards,
I miss the hands that turn me
upside down and make me chuckle.
Baby on a magic bed of cuddles.
Always the tiger on the telly
making transformations,
with natural technology and anything else to hand.
Liquid tension releases vertical frames,
dropping in and out of changing minds.
Let the speakers amplify the clean sound
of heavenly heart tunes.
Lightening our load,
wondering slightly,
pondering the mighty,
smelling the future pong.
Eating flowers
The first time I tasted you,
I satisfied my desiring eyes,
letting you become part of me.
My crazy, lazy, pattern aside,
why don’t we listen to ourselves?
Melting tissue.
Traffic puzzles.
Frightened chicken.
Crackles hot, potatoes ripple.
Effects that cause trouble.
Honesty lends a smile,
leaping handstands,
strangers become friends.
Juicy hero of democracy,
floating wildly, passing by.
I vote for the human.
Keys touch,
recognising each point.
The bleeping stops.
My spirit demands
three metres of love
twenty five times a day;
no limits to enough.
Sirens, tempers fasten.
Light measures
but only once in a while.
Forgiving motorists.
The sound of early morning nutters
slip dangerously close to my brain
“Hello, I’m beautiful again.”
Although I am a bit of a fool
In a London landscape.
20.01.01.