A Crest Worn Upon A Chest

we leave a number in lieu of another.

can a different numerical arrangement really bring something it's predecessor couldn't?

are we expected to believe in a new light when the one prior was still burning brightly?

i had gold in my hands, i spoke with wonder.

un-verbly it's open mouth leaves nothing of worth...
i laughed the day they told me that history would become relevant in my lifely routine.
i laughed the day they told me that.

exacting the hum-drum, i am left with no beat no drum.
the startings.
the middles.
the ends.

Fr Fr Fr

I have forgotten about language, the playfulness of it's nature.
I elongate it's vowels for my own communication. They protrude like spikey fruit upon branch of wilted tree.
To ears, other than my own, it sounds like music.
I think it's time I allowed myself to open up and to stop with the green grass philosophy which dogs my brain, like a constant, broken motorway. It's destination unrevealed until the finality of my arrival.
Open stretches of water alert fear in me, there is something beautiful but, deathly about them.
I often associate this spectre with the end of life, as if i have somehow experienced it before.
perhaps...in a previous existence, if i believed in things like that.

Red Young

Hamilton Fensby, my local gardener, handles his ware at a pace more pleasurely than leisurely.

Fawn, he repeats and peat he emits.

No more utopia blue, his gaze.
'What do you do when your designs are flawed?'
'I just let 'em talk of petering out'
...
'When the fields are gone will the cows take out mortgages?
Will the sheep get full-time jobs?
I guess we won't have to worry about closing the gates anymore.
Why?
Well, they'll be neatly replaced by a housing estate.
He caught us in his castle, hidden under-chair, we shiver, quiver and stare.
'FE-FI-FO-FUM...I smell the blood of an Englishman'

Sun-Tak

in the words of the man that sold me the gun...it's people that kill people

in the words of the man that sold me the gun...it's people that kill people

they cut themselves open like morning mail...over territory or something

would they be more civilised with hooded cardigans?

in the words of the man who took my life...what you looking at?

in the words of the man who took my life...you disrespecting?

in the words of the man who took my life...you should've done nothing

in the words of the man who took my life...i don't remember it

the blood pouring out?