Cerebral Fallacies

Can i perchance unwrite this love? Can i forgo this feeling and choose another? Can i keep my dreams unbound, moor them to ships at sail- Can i write cumbersome poetry, that have been written before so that our love our greatest loves, remain in the fading lights of your eyes...

In my right mind i am perchance servile to destiny in my gluttonous state i envy time asking for more on some other days i ask no one, i tell no one my dreams split open like an egg nicely done in sepia in my head but then can i run, as hard, as fast as he wants me to go will he let me ease up just a wee bit take a breath let me look at the falling leaves squint at the tinted sun while i run past my lives several of them lying by the highway as i pass them by

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 How infectious could I get, how random, how withdrawn when I write here how singularly insular or how cumbersome and comely.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