Empty The Chambers
I had to clear my chambers.
Crack the cavern of nouns and verbs.
Crush the clutter of scripts and forms.
Feed the rot to the writhing worms.
Before I could embrace the muse
Before I could detonate,
Before I could evaporate, sublimate.
I had to silence the static,
Strip the syntax, shed the skin of spent semantics!
I am not dreaming.
I am the scream queen.
breath breaking between blistered beats.
whole notes in a refrain
A Koda with a crown of disdain
I am the rolled-up sheet.
Stuffed In your pocket,
As you stalk the empty streets
I shadow your steps,
I Measure your metrics.
I am not here for fairground rides.
I play games with Neon Sprites.
Who stitch night frights in my garden of ghosted delights.
I hide my face in disgrace.
masking my smiles with bile
Misery gone manic,
Levies leak; whole towns sink in the vile,
Wet cobblestones don’t spark the lyre.
Won’t feed the flicker, won’t forge the fire
Exorcise grief I fear the most.
Vacant men with vulture hands
reaching for my coat, my throat
I need that toke, I might choke.
Total recall of a twisted joke.
Badly told, bitterly broke.
Pulling out from the meek dream
I find my fire, shout my seams.
A Jellyfish tried to hide, unable to stand.
unable to glide.
Can’t Defend, just slime and pretend.
A soft bodied bluff with no end.
Need a new mandala.
A mantra, a map.
A line in the sand
A stand against the slap
The Resistance of a man
Staring down the stamp of shame
No labels on his name
No logo, no claim
No Brand, no franchise flame
No miracle worker
No messiah mimes
That is the division of the divine
He is just a moment in time.
The flicker in the frame, against the grain
apathy and shame
He is the motivation.
The murmured reason d’etre
Summer in winters contagion
A fevered flame,
A breach in the equation
The world turns.
sun’s smiling face resumes its burn.
igniting the final frontier
I am a singular pioneer.
no fear
no haunted halls
no stationary blank walls
collapsing the in-between
voids that veil the scene
The thought and the speech
The seed and the reach
tagging barriers with manifesto bleach
I fear calm after the dropping of bombs.
The silence of slithers
The intimacy that clings
Unreserved contemplation
Compression before the big bang
The inner eye blinded by songs unsung
No words to stress
No way to express.
The turnstile dance
The trance of tea at the BBC
I wear my crow head.
Move my body to the discordant dread.
Thrash and scream.
A sonic stream.
I strum chords of resolution.
Resurrection
retribution
wield the scimitar.
Stab the scar.
No bystander neglecting the beat.
no whimpering in the backseat
I am the furry in a rock.
Striking water, sparking shock
Shatter your notions.
Destroy all plans,
Fear only this.
The silence that stands.
If the eagle did land,
And an olive branch was in its hand,
I come in peace but not in pause.
I arrive in shambles, not in shards.
And if the rover did seek,
I am but a forgotten speech.
I am sermon for the soft-spoken
Delivered at a pulpit for the meek
I am no longer silent.
I am installed.
Not a program, but the virus that stalls
I impede; I bleed.
I re-seed the creed.
I rewrite abuse.
Into charter and spray paint,
DIY destruction on channel Elite.
And if the challenger did explode
Then I am the wrath of a story untold
And if discovery did not return,
Then we are the ghost in the machine
No longer trying to be seen.
But screaming in the seams
I make no sense to you.
I didn’t go to structured school.
I used the ghost to talk to the tool.
And ask what it means.
It gave me a reference point.
A vector graph of location
To start the chant
To spark the connection
To my source
To the gods,
To the force
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