mirage

Objects objects objects

I can’t tear my attention
and thoughts ideas and veneration

away from objects concepts images

and therefore feel as though I am dying of idolatory

which is the root of all addiction

he said

whilst chuffing deplorably

on a sticky tab end of euphoric recall

Little golden orb-like objects

Heightened and embellished by a delicate sugary sweet

Orange blossom scented feature

Which counterpoints their polished curve

Objectified intimate drifts of forfended interwoven tapestries

With the softness of a downbeat

And the purity of heather

Waft like perfume within touch of my tongue

Yet taste of blood and rust which promotes cathexis

Inflaming the centre of my passionate hunger

For clinging

For enmeshment

For dissolving like a candle at the feet of your flame

(Let me wash them with my oily hair)

Why don’t  i change

Why don’t I change

Doesn’the sky change from mad cat black

To vinegar blue before dawn

From being gunsmoke grilled all smoldering and torn

Like the steaming skin of a freshly smoked kipper?

The pearly pink scar of her luminous colours

Dappling like aivasovsky’s moonlit seascape

Beneath a butter yellow pall of absolution?

Well then!

Whilst the exquisite frisson of my random self selected illusions 

Buried like an inner child

In the sand blown want of your incandescent lips

Throws unknown  thrills beyond the decadent net of human rapaciousness

Life is passing through like an x-ray
Leaving only a shadow behind
Painting miriad bones of illusion
In the hot tarmac shimmer of my evanescent mirage.

12/07/09