my head like a cheeseball
sniffing like the cough of my discontent
wavering in the delirium
of my altogether lostings and lingering
languishment
my eyes soar or is that sore
sore as they soar into the sky
of moist musings
about the lack of energy
and repose
like the need of your soft hands
to caress and kraul
upon me
i am cold and feeling uncomfortable
truly miserating the miserations of misery
and mounting in marvellous moments
of moodings toward drinking a glass
of wine or something stronger
like an analgesic hangover
or an evening sleeping on tranquilizers
if i had any to soothe a horse bound
carriage of crazed crusty crankstones
curving the cure and counting the colours
in a cloudless sky
as if it has much to say but the officiousness
of my mood like dried apple seed in the desert
of no rain and how the wind howls like a hopeless
honouring of happened discourse
driving myself dreamlike temptations of a drinking song
i have yet to sing as ballad of losing one's way through
the feverish fainting of faltering footsteps in the sand
to be more precise in the exaction of my own crumpled
carousel like jasmin picnics and the scent of a rose bush
to eat the flowers as a monumental journey inwards
to the disguise and realm rarely seen but lived as a wayward
wanton waggish chin of chumpsilos and cursed cravings
of water and more of what constitutes the meaning
of my awakening into the lack of sitting flesh
and to sneeze seeming in the endless perusal
of posturing predictions
some ideas in the ideation of idioms and idealogues
monologues of migrating bedsheets wet with the stains
of sorrowful distilleries
like the wasteland of the mind in a moment of making
one's dinner of canned vegetables and half eaten
slices of bread to wash the drying throat from the coarseness
of an autumn's cold chested suppressions
like a compress of menthol cigarettes chewing
in my ringing ears and soaring eyes toward the
torturing sky
the dirt on my slippers like thoughts of summer's sandals
and sunburnt skin from a day at the beach of nausea
though i must admit it is only a chest cold
a few sneezes and faint spells of spurious discomfort
begging for a reprieve behind the wheel of fast moving
objects
like a highway without sentiment or a sincerity
without desire longing as if pity becomes oneself
thinking of the pleasure that has been denied during
the course of a day spent inside
stirring in the soft breakwaters of bugling bundles
of brushes
like the flavouring of a canvas abstracted by the movement
of colour in the random roaring ocean waves
to feel myself again beyond the hyperbole of heaping
happiness that has betrayed my momentary bliss
and rationalizing a sleep that takes me in to tomorrow
other than that ... how are you ?
sniffing like the cough of my discontent
wavering in the delirium
of my altogether lostings and lingering
languishment
my eyes soar or is that sore
sore as they soar into the sky
of moist musings
about the lack of energy
and repose
like the need of your soft hands
to caress and kraul
upon me
i am cold and feeling uncomfortable
truly miserating the miserations of misery
and mounting in marvellous moments
of moodings toward drinking a glass
of wine or something stronger
like an analgesic hangover
or an evening sleeping on tranquilizers
if i had any to soothe a horse bound
carriage of crazed crusty crankstones
curving the cure and counting the colours
in a cloudless sky
as if it has much to say but the officiousness
of my mood like dried apple seed in the desert
of no rain and how the wind howls like a hopeless
honouring of happened discourse
driving myself dreamlike temptations of a drinking song
i have yet to sing as ballad of losing one's way through
the feverish fainting of faltering footsteps in the sand
to be more precise in the exaction of my own crumpled
carousel like jasmin picnics and the scent of a rose bush
to eat the flowers as a monumental journey inwards
to the disguise and realm rarely seen but lived as a wayward
wanton waggish chin of chumpsilos and cursed cravings
of water and more of what constitutes the meaning
of my awakening into the lack of sitting flesh
and to sneeze seeming in the endless perusal
of posturing predictions
some ideas in the ideation of idioms and idealogues
monologues of migrating bedsheets wet with the stains
of sorrowful distilleries
like the wasteland of the mind in a moment of making
one's dinner of canned vegetables and half eaten
slices of bread to wash the drying throat from the coarseness
of an autumn's cold chested suppressions
like a compress of menthol cigarettes chewing
in my ringing ears and soaring eyes toward the
torturing sky
the dirt on my slippers like thoughts of summer's sandals
and sunburnt skin from a day at the beach of nausea
though i must admit it is only a chest cold
a few sneezes and faint spells of spurious discomfort
begging for a reprieve behind the wheel of fast moving
objects
like a highway without sentiment or a sincerity
without desire longing as if pity becomes oneself
thinking of the pleasure that has been denied during
the course of a day spent inside
stirring in the soft breakwaters of bugling bundles
of brushes
like the flavouring of a canvas abstracted by the movement
of colour in the random roaring ocean waves
to feel myself again beyond the hyperbole of heaping
happiness that has betrayed my momentary bliss
and rationalizing a sleep that takes me in to tomorrow
other than that ... how are you ?