Dark Side
My dreaming suns tapered into groves
Of mandrake plants and roots of cleft shadows,
When the bootstrapped heels of tramping dusk
Kicked my reveries that they dissolved to dust and husk,
Bowling in a spiral down a nightshade path,
Fracturing against the moon-stained tombs epitaph,
Dispersing among the graveyard grasses,
Flying bat-like against chapel window glasses,
Evaporating around the puritan wood pews,
Resting on the turning of infinite screws,
Laying on the altars of burgundy and stone,
Sacrificed for a knick-knack of crystal and bone.
Such is the duplicitous heart of the dark side,
Outer limits of a rat arsed world split wide,
Where the edges and meanings blur like smoke,
And white-eyed girls blow kisses for a joke
To settle like ghosts upon frosted blue lips,
Until time reverses, trips, flips and slips
A drunken stutter of moonwalk proportions,
A flock of masochistic temporal distortions,
And dreams, or truth, whichever is preferred
Become the children of yore, seen but not heard.
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