Monday, 25 July 2011

The Idea

Actinics slip between peels of maroon flame
And sleep upon the bricks of weeded sand.
The idea stretches across two planes of hope.
One is concrete, one is built of light.
The idea is Christlike, without death,
It's fleshless body pinned to the bones of the world.

Wednesday, 13 July 2011

I Have Witnessed Your Redemption

I have witnessed your redemption.
It didn't come like a flood
With a tragic surprise,
It grew with patience and power
In precise brush touches,
Oil on oil on Venetian stone.

I have witnessed your redemption.
It was not couched in false verses
Of maidenly rhymes or pious hymns.
It just fragmented,
Light from a pinhole obscurer
Scorching a cyclorama.

I have witnessed your redemption.
Not in dreams so much as prophesy.
In visions that come as ready-cooked
Revelations for the exhausted.
Your psyche was warm and your skin, sinless.
Your joy was not delirium, but born
From a rigorous noesis.

I Have Witnessed Your Redemption

I have witnessed your redemption.
It didn't come like a flood
With a tragic surprise,
It grew with patience and power
In precise brush touches,
Oil on oil on Venetian stone.

I have witnessed your redemption.
It was not couched in false verses
Of maidenly rhymes or pious hymns.
It just fragmented,
Light from a pinhole obscurer
Scorching a cyclorama.

I have witnessed your redemption.
Not in dreams so much as prophesy.
In visions that come as ready-cooked
Revelations for the exhausted.
Your psyche was warm and your skin, sinless.
Your joy was not delirium, but born
From a rigorous noesis.

Monday, 11 July 2011

Seven Sisters Blues

Two lipstick harlots gossip on the doorstep at Sauna 2k.
A silver Golf GTI sits like a preying cat,
Headlights insomniac in the red of the dark.
There's a menace in the railway girders at Finsbury Park,
A trapped tension in the bolts of the rust.
Greek cafes and hooka bars are empty but open
And boys talk football and bitches at the fruit stalls
Selling oversized watermelons and mangoes.

Heartbreak is a blessing.
You capitulate or you blossom.
Every time we love someone,
We become one of the prophets,
Tossing our souls like dice
Onto the sand,
Hoping the seed will find wet dirt.

Can you feel the crucifixion
In each of your summer breaths,
Your veins bleeding liquid truth?

This is the meaning of your sickness.
God's grace comes as pestilence,
In a contagious loneliness,
Disguising the sublime
As coal stains bruise Portland stone.

Midnight Belongs To The Boys

video