Filed under: Poetry
Restless lie! I see figures of a city deny their existence
a generation of what fors and
no i am nots.
a generation of unquantifiable refusal.
Based in pictoral ambiguity, without shape or place but left to drift in unknown leagues of checkered print,
adrown in overwhelming knowledge, made pro-teched and able so that they rebuke freedom
by mediated existence
Oh how am I to you, beneath facade of fictioned bliss
beneath staccato taps
Beating woollen brethren I see your pupils bespectacled and grown to deep black depths
a figure in the face between us blinks
back my face
so that we may never be close
my glass
eyed
guppy.
I am wet with salted excretions and colour in places uncooth
Burning in red clumsiness you spurn me like a racist
my long haired line of lovers
what has man made of you
what has you
o u
we fuck frantically. badly.
your skin a rippled pool, I run a finger down a ridged back
cannot crawl fast enough away.
I want to pull your hair and bite your toes to see if you’re still here.
Oh cross and muddled tome – the ashen pages slowly made invisible
the oils
the thick
scarlet
bind.
de-visibling and mutilating the minds of my generation
do not covet the final puff, the final static note
the final looming moment of non-existence not to be
before identities are seized before us
and deposited by complex rhythms of the benignly illogical
to the in-between of day or night or time or space or love or hate
Sort me sort you
describe my life to me, display our life to you
Oh care-less love, lost -
you are only an unjust mirage of pixels.
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