words as photographs

Stricken by the unseen hand of Morpheus My lids go heavy with boredom. I look outside and wonder Is there more to this cycle of volume Is there  a way to cause actual impact? Is there an action that is both significant and permanent? Or are we all just filling the space between breaths? Behind screens, mannequins Dutiful, complacent all But in 'er minds, Nests a colourful squall Perhaps an argument Or last night's nightmare? A shopping list Or a son's broken wrist? Is this how we fill the space In between breaths?

I'm about to witness the birth of the band Tool, in a cool restaurant in Oxford. This shit is momentous.

To managing. To always managing. To always managing getting along. To always managing getting along ever Without getting anywhere.

Smiling, silence holding Stunning, reason folding My third eye which sees not What it is but what Desire has wrought Out of time and out of space. Outwards answers my vacant face Inwards I am turned A shaking of the hips And a snarling of the lips Thy flesh is pounded We rip and suck Then we tear and fuck The call has sounded A meat machine sears Deeper, deeper Rushing in our ears We explode roaring By base bliss in bed This great furnace is fed And now smirking The Devil stands to wed Quiet, quiet. Silence, silence. So I can be back again To my rain drops and bus stops