Bones To Bury

Glimmer, glower, sit and stalk, dark angels fall to see you swim through this city like you mean it.  Walls and doors, windows to the fuckin’ soul.  The security guards are the unwitting keepers of our feet on the ground.  They sit on the surface of transcendence.  Man, they clip your wings and drink from Thermos flasks.  I’ll talk to you about flying over terrain marked by all these political borders.  Maybe we should whisper, or maybe we should shout.  If the world knew that their framework is a net.  If the world had a conscience for every dolphin trapped with the tuna.

The key is changing and I’m slipping over the landscape and into the grass.  Tall grass.  When the lawnmowers come, maybe they’ll find me, or maybe they’ll mulch me up like field mices.  What a way to go, but if it’s good enough for those soft gentle creatures then the captain of this ship can stear that course too:  karma is my wind and my ocean, and there’s no voyage short enough to want not for companions.

Run, run, fuck.  Run but oh trip slide my god was that worth it?  I heard and felt her breathing.  In the end it’s all some kind of dance.  Sometimes it takes years to figure out what the tempo was, and to begin to hear the ghostly murmours of the music you were moving to.  We should make our own music.  Dance to that with passion.  Hum it or tap it and just grab a hand and start twirling.  It’s all vertigo either way, and like dervishes you could whorl to enlightenment.

Cackle my friend.  Feel warm in your skin, that warm glow is your warm glow.  Strike a light, little buddy, and let the match brighten your features for a moment in incandescence.

You’re giving me noise now with your gasket-face head-blowing.  Too much static now you swine, and too much swine flu.  I can live beside, we just need to keep the cake flowing.
(Rummages and find, former suitcase addendum, former flowing auburn - but my god that was a flowing Nile of red hair - former postcard in your mailbox. haha)
There’s old magic in old dust, and old dust in old magic, and some days more so the other.

Breathe in and sigh, smile and pause, and we can pass this one on as old luck.

Open it up; that’s it.  The stretch of paper, the line of words.  The sea of sharks and islands.

You’re doing good kid.   Someone behind you coughs, and you’re in a library at a desk between the stacks.  All these books, all these enthusiastic readers.  Sponges.

You’re definitely on a roll.  Lanes of traffic, drifts of seaweed, jungles of Malaysia.

 I think though that I’m much better loving the world as a whole and precipitatively, as I’m a bit of a funny creature and not at all a rock but just person soup.

Big colourful banners, with all the happiest symbols on.

—–

Mrrah. Hello. I am in England working my ass off. No free time and hard hard work, but it will mean I’ll be able to return to Oz with a pocket full of cookies to fund ideas! That’s the plan anyway.

Don’t feel up for jaunting verbal, as my soul is currently being held by high command. When shackles broken, I’ll sing about it all.

Cheerio!
Osh