Aurality.

I grew my first ear in my
Childhood
It carved itself of flesh
And shot out a path that
Went straight to my brain
It still goes there sometimes but
The signals get confused
The signals get diffused
When I was young all that I knew
Was simple melody
The music was little more than a pleasing piece
Of produced sound
A song that rises from the ground
My aural faculties
My brain
And my intellectualities
Grew from those sweet
Sweet harmonies
From the soil of sweet harmony

My second ear came into being
When I was adolescent
I had begun to grow a heart
It fluttered in my chest
And it demanded sustenance
My second ear grew out of my own necessity
And it carved a lonesome highway
Down into my new-born heart
I gave to it those harmonies
I starved my brain of melody
The sound had to be shared
Between objective thought
And new found feelings
Feedback grew and grew
And grew and when the sound
Came back I knew
That my heart had changed it just a bit
I found there something new
From the foundations of my brain
And heart working as one
The music changed and changed

The third is still not quite complete
It pushes its way out of pre-natal space
In the middle of my head
Somewhere below my brain
And yet it manifests
And skips a block of space
It folds back into reality
And it is all around me
It doesn't hear as such
It feels the sound another way
The music becomes tangible
My synaesthetic plight
It unpacks a note
A whole harmony
And the vibration then unfolds
Into something hard and skeletal
A block of space that permeates
Every space I see
But I don't hear or see it
I feel the space unfold around me
Expand into a prism
That somehow encompasses
Everything
I think my third ear might not be in my head at all
But another place completely
My third ear is another sense
To occupy another plane

Council.

A possum scratches on my windows
Likely eyeing himself
Some new phantom sizing up
Pulling up the concrete carpet and
Scattering the dirt like tea leaves and splinters
And bark-bound clouds
And homeless Irishmen
Shrouds and coffins and mockingbirds
A colder
Bluer winter
Than I might have known

An hour might do
An hour might do
How long will it take to reach the bottom?
Will this golem let me down?
And the hand around my neck
That spits fire from its mouth
And thinks in tongues
And falls in tons of bricks
While the flesh aggregates
And crawls into the jungle
And crawls into my windpipe
And speaks for me
Hovering in horror
Speaking platitudes in sign
And slowly tightening a dexterous finger
Around my Adam's apple
If the golem would let me down
Just to sink back into dust
If the flesh might fall apart
Just to rot
As old flesh must
We might find ourselves in iron
Or a giant tortoise shell
While tree frogs talk to
Spitting bugs
And conspire against the whims of man

Folding away.

A lot of the time you're the warrior-king
But you're also the black and the white of the moon
Punching into the rafters
And making a new mind
From the shattered planks of many

I'd like to write a thousand words
A thousand metaphors
For your lovely white body
For the collapsible veins that make you up
The hackneyed mess that you are
That takes in the world and does something different
To me

But sometimes you're the mouse I made
The wandering gypsy-Jew
Harridan harpy singed-hairs all around your tarpaulin chest
And you scream your crystal death rattle
To the end of us both

And sometimes I can't reach you
Just like I'm trying to do
I'll tread the corners of my mind
The back alleys of my brain
And one day I hope to find you

Capital Something.

But he was always in the room
Clawing at the final curls of my shirt
And darting down back to the corner

A furtive eye uncoils
Through a crack in the door
And peaks at the doomed and wandering
Laughing from the corner of the room

Avatar.

I tried to do it with my eyes
But it just would not do
I tried to do it with my fingers
I tried to say 'I do'
I tried and tried with eyes of mine
I tried to crack the world in two
And found inside my own damn ears
The answer I'd fought to
I could hear one thousand things
More than you ever could do
And away into another way
Away it flew and flew
And you
Fly farther than the farthest of two
I'm not allowed to say
That one rhyme I want to
My Jew
My Jew
It's you
My Jew
I'm happy to grant that metaphor to you

And I, the lonely prophet Jew
Sitting on the top held by a red screw
Proselytising to you and you
How to go about it anew
Through and through
Come shattering through
The lonely wandering
Scorned and wisened
Burnt to bitter blackness through
The tiny wandering Jew

Tripping and slipping
And falling in through
Flipping and skipping
And calling to you
All I have is words
For you

What proud diction
What predilection
What manifestation is going to lead me through
The calmest
Reddest
Bloodiest waters
Pushing right on through to you

Webway.

Flat against the floor
Walls
Roof
I'm not sure
Flat against the wall
And spiking in the wrong direction
Spiking into my cranium
Skull
I'm not sure of anything anymore

Flat against the floor
Walls, roof
Right out the door

Defunct.

I keep catching myself thinking
The wrong way around
Not because I want to

And saying things
Not naturally
But because I know that
It's what you're supposed to say

Like every tiny action
And suspect affectation
Is part of some larger
Stifling
Social obligation

Although now that I have anchors
On the surface of the world
I have a stake in the world
I feel it much less often