Cerebral Fallacies

the day is brittle, two suns break it open as one the moon capsizes the idea, that it can be broken like little play things that shatter the afternoon siesta and reverse the fortunes of the night the day can bend too it stoops to touch its feet in a futile exercise that lays the world at your feet!

I have issues with black ink written on yellowed brown in halting yet moving verse! I am yet to come to terms with this orchestra, this strange but all familiar tune! I want these words to shake off their insolence and stand up for themselves! Elucidate, speak of the vagaries of time and chance, things of the gamine nature, which have no bearing on the destinies of today. They must become orderlies of the fecund mind and temptresses of day-altering truth! I will completely fill these pages with me, infest them with my curved signature. Emboss it with verbose authority so that it ceases to have identity of its own if not from my tepid infiltration. How infectious could I get, how random, how withdrawn when I write here how singularly insular or how cumbersome and comely. Whatever was the rage, is all on the page. The yesterdays, todays and tomorrows. the absences, malignant tumour of the unknown withheld on pages...so that this paper has no other face, other than the role i give it to p...

My temples of repulsion my altar of truth my abysss of contention and the valley of fear My arguements in favour of my idea in retort to my faith healed by its impending doom my heart punctuated with wily heartbreaks my nights inundated wiyh day breaks my words inroads to my soul my actions faithful to its conflict my glass ceilings pitched against the sky my dreams frothing at the mouth my mind alas weary to be set free!!!

How can you satisy that which never sleeps the kind that creates worlds within worlds and calls time over for a fete The mind lays as if in a seige sate in its own playthings doors leading to laughter and windows leading to gloom There was always succour in doubt, but then how else would we have known!

Past five we die we huddle at a gurgling tea pot and hover around for signs of life none, someone says and we sip in unison crib crib and crib some more the yolk of the dress, the tale of the male the bitch in retort and her new consort, more sips of the soup when we emerge from the coup none is wiser still yet the huddle is more like a cuddle in a cup! past five

I judge you not for those typical words spoken- nor would I bear on you the truth-be-tolds; shall not commiserate on thy commonplace sighs, nor finger your misshapen trust- neither negate nor nuke those ridiculous love pangs, for such are the ways of love, that seemingly entire oceans of love can wash over yet not beguile the heathen, while mere drops of the early spray can completely drench and moisten the love bandits!

A genuine piece of boredom I gift to you a yen for inspiration an elsewhere, a has-been moment of guiles and of potential lies scattered in droopy eyelids that nursed a dream just a few sleeps back a genuine piece of boredom I gift to you it catch you with a net, slowly enveloping your senses, marauding, it suffuses you with a pink light and sharp shooting caffeine hungover mornings are better dealt with a sip of nonchalance a grip loosing itself to reality a truth dawning on known unknown faces its an interesting moment to be in a bubble that should not crack until awakening returns you to the folds of this life-induced pill LA