Quick prints.

Barefoot I match my pace
To the earth's pulse
The heartbeat of this place
Underfoot under concrete
Under ore veins convulse
Frenetically
A bed of dust comes
Tucking in its sheet
Whirling in the hot air
Twists pathetically
A frantic orange warmth
Conspiring with the earth
Wreaking havoc on my bare feet

I am I am I am I am I am I am.

A persistent echoing a foldback of time
All the moments here before flood into my mind
I am not mad I am not mad
A black silhouette in colours unnamed
And it shifts in its shape it's never the same
I am not mad I am not mad
I have heard all of these words before
Long ago in a parallel time back in yore
I am not mad I am not mad
Time blankets this place I can see I can see
And everything explodes I see all reality
I am not mad I am not mad


Have you ever been afraid because something made too much sense?

Make the bones sing

Strangled readjust the light and shine
Me out of the conical head and onto a page
Sifting through the notes and shifting through
The permutations I have these bones to fill
With meat and sinew

From a sheet of paper erects a force-field
From the punishing rain from the slow dull pain
I have these bones given to me to fill
With meat and flesh and

The flesh to fill with blood
It's all very good to make a body
You have to make it live somehow and maybe
You'll relinquish just a little of your soul
To make the paper sing these tones reverberate
Off the inside of the force-field

This wondrous skeleton is a gift to me
And I am responsible
To make it move

Noster.

I had a mark
I had a girl
I had some cash to make
I fucked it up
She hanged for it
Now I have nightmares while awake

I'm finished with my pirating
Now I just trade booze
Illegally? Well, I suppose
If that's the word you want to use

My Terrorist Heart.

Music in progress.

Don't get caught in the blast of my terrorist heart
My orange clad pacemaker right from the start
My mustard coloured wings choking you to death
Seeping and intoxicating out of my terrorist heart
Dangerous right from the start

Colourshape.

I recognize those lacerated
Fingertips and that smoky
Laugh
That I always inhaled and
Coughed up
Your unforgettable black smear stain
On my young and drunk
Impressionable brain

Take your god damned hands off of me
And sink your teeth into my neck
Sink your colours into the sunrise and I'll
Make a dawn chorus to which we sleep

My love grows slow.

The mountains have always been there

And the oak is old as time

So low and so mighty so slow and so

Slow that you can never really watch them grow

How does a mountain grow?

It's always been there

You wouldn't know

True power, the energy to move a nation

Doesn't just spark up

There is no amount of patience

No anticipation

You let it grow

And while I may not be an inferno

My love will move mountains

Because my love grows slow

Honest.

A little boy puffs up his chest

And pipes an honest tune

He tries his best to do his best

But the song is over soon

He trips and stumbles for a bar

And briefly cries aloud

The cry slips through the door ajar

And the song is briefly cowed

A rumbling and then the crack

Is filled with furtive eyes

It's started now, no turning back

The boy decides to try

He crescendos through the verse

And explodes into refrain

And though the song in words is terse

They can feel it just the same

The little boy breathes out into

A final bar of pause

But without him sound begins anew

He is showered with applause