when it is both an immersion
and a stripping away
to sit alone on a chair
of Chinese plastic
facing a window
without being able to...
Oh, so many things!
"It's in my blood!"
Jhon Balance screams out again today
with an intensity that few have
particularly among the dead
drunk sacrificed from a balcony
onto cold marble below
his last pie dropped from such a height yet
still cooling on the ground
spread out now
like the contents of a handbag
now to the multiverse
another tiny ripple sent out
his truly meaningful echo
defying age by sliding the web
being immergent for so long
you actually become part of it
in physics we call it momentum
it is momentous
my ability to be alone in my room
with a dead man
with a couple of dead men
everything backwards
crooning grinding out magick
electric channels max'd
cold sunlit spaces pictureless and worn
out with white plaster lumps
scars built up from all the years
of sleepers and stayers
now mine I fill it with boxes
of things I drag along
and share
Sleazy's invisible fingers
still make it happen
push Jhon further
samplers whirring
dipping like songbirds
like night birds lurking
these lines keep coming
ebbing up to me
like tentative kittens
all tiny faces
filled with innocence
hunger and rage
tiny razor claws and teeth
to spend so much time alone and working
dedication to a practice mad
bent toward delusion creation
thousands of kittens ripping
piercing the worn denim of my legs
ever more kittens and their chosen
soundtrack is all pre-written pre-recorded
flute haunting the call
of a silhouetted bird
with sheening black feathers
giving a moment's union
still dug in and
underlining the alone of this
and a stripping away
to sit alone on a chair
of Chinese plastic
facing a window
without being able to...
Oh, so many things!
"It's in my blood!"
Jhon Balance screams out again today
with an intensity that few have
particularly among the dead
drunk sacrificed from a balcony
onto cold marble below
his last pie dropped from such a height yet
still cooling on the ground
spread out now
like the contents of a handbag
now to the multiverse
another tiny ripple sent out
his truly meaningful echo
defying age by sliding the web
being immergent for so long
you actually become part of it
in physics we call it momentum
it is momentous
my ability to be alone in my room
with a dead man
with a couple of dead men
everything backwards
crooning grinding out magick
electric channels max'd
cold sunlit spaces pictureless and worn
out with white plaster lumps
scars built up from all the years
of sleepers and stayers
now mine I fill it with boxes
of things I drag along
and share
Sleazy's invisible fingers
still make it happen
push Jhon further
samplers whirring
dipping like songbirds
like night birds lurking
these lines keep coming
ebbing up to me
like tentative kittens
all tiny faces
filled with innocence
hunger and rage
tiny razor claws and teeth
to spend so much time alone and working
dedication to a practice mad
bent toward delusion creation
thousands of kittens ripping
piercing the worn denim of my legs
ever more kittens and their chosen
soundtrack is all pre-written pre-recorded
flute haunting the call
of a silhouetted bird
with sheening black feathers
giving a moment's union
still dug in and
underlining the alone of this
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