They look on at you through the
Looking Glass
Illegal clicks and flashes stealing away your charcoal delirium
For they could not walk away without the grim certitude of a tangible souvenir.
Smudged cashmere lovers in nameless alleys
You Pig! You dared to forget this embrace
And we succumbed although animalistic treachery
Seeped through each pore in this pallid skin of yours
Sketchy barriers
Maniac Scribbles
Epileptic oil paint love
Meddled and mashed with
Grimy slabs of fingertip eagerness.
You must have stared and glared at them for hours
All the porous dents in achromatic skin
Subcutaneous calamity of brushstrokes
A pulchritudinous replica with divine precision
Or
Wavering
Disintergrating
Collapse
Into the sweetness of melancholy,
Pencil distress, grey or blue,
Blue as can be
And clawing through our carelessness.
And upon this very wall,
Buckets and buckets of lust at theatres
Blurred disjointed ligaments of puerile dream
We gazed and blazed, fickle as always.
You and your dainty observation
Your emaciated guests in frames, clinging on to
Scrawny hopes and constructed situations
Building blocks of yearning
He trapped you, alas.
Abashed you concede,
Prisoners in prison bliss,
We adore you
And forget you
Or can barely hear you articulate,
With your entwined outlines
Myriad pains
And Bitter longing.
You made our hairs stand tall
In their pulpy stools
Demoniac cats, bristling hairs in blacks and pinks and greys,
Clownlike,
Rapid glances of fleeting distraction, attraction
In drooling yellows.
You bore little emotion
In your asymmetry
And he
Bodiless as she combed and pulled at blackened eye sockets
In which rotten birds could or would feast once more
Electric plummeting pools of light
Carcasses of bobs and curls
Fickle fleshy brush strokes,
Blushing in their nakedness.
Worth the wait
And the envy in kaleidoscopic eyes
As poison and lazy arsonists
You sang to us in canvas caverns,
Unfaltering.
Cults of heartache and disgust,
Almost choking on these chunks of pigment
Pools and pools of watery ideas and
Foolish thuds of paint in your
Voracious talent.
Crowds of people to pick apart
Limb by limb
Pantomimes of pedants
We must comprehend at once
Each crack Each crevice Each snarl
Of these seas and the wretched Loathing.
You adored it all in all your disdain and repulsion
These beautiful slithering flaws
Upon which you feast,
Canvas caresses
Of Eerie Warmth
Valleys of White
And incoherent figures of melancholy
Nonsense as it should or shouldn’t be
We could never tell.
Ad hoc absurdities shovelled into
Sterile rooms
Lay us all on the tarmac
Skulking around like silly crustaceans
In these alleys of insanity
Poltergeists of shame
Manifest of the strangers,
Frustrated glances in instance of creamy anguish
You saw it all through creeping squints of
Pure Bliss.
You presented us with this bizarre company
Pointed counts
Who despised us all
I care not who he is but how he stares with such angular anger
I adore him already in his selfish cynicism and disdain
Fascinating, enthralling intellect
For he for one knows just what he sees in all its bitterness
And sepulchral tones,
Obscure shades of discontent
Opaque freak shows in hazy frocks
Frantically scrawls onto cards, walls, etched into mind sets
And frozen from cagey café seats.
Smokey pedestrians
Clamorous citizens
You succumbed to this lustful documentations
Snippets of breath
And Torment.
Inky foetus,
No thoughts
No association
Just you or I
In further fascination
For you all feel different against the
Ridges of his page,
All aching through this host
In your wretched mortality,
Erotic as all poetic though
You shivered at these unhinged loves
And sketched to your heart’s content.
Symmetrical scenes of wisdom.
Insignia of art,
Number 26 or 27, I haven’t the heart to know
You just are
In your agony and fantasy and lascivious freedoms
Stupors of honesty and adoration
Dalliances between features
Marriage of beats of sense of
Face after Face after Face
Who knows anything these days after it has all been and gone
In all their humanity and
Blueish similarity,
Any medium you could find.
Glorious jungles in which we basked
Apart of course but nevertheless
Amongst the shores of madness
The futile and flimsy lines of senseless darkness
Amidst the folly of
The peck peck pecks.
To hell with all these delicious victims of inspiration
They are immortal now.
