I hear the creak of heaven feathers sprouting from a human back.
Formless and afraid, but not really bothered
I flop onto pages and just write in the colours that come to mind.
Inside of mouth silks in fluid slow motion
I am here.
In these crawling dreams.
In these rolls.
I am here,
in my dimples and in my bones
on brilliant skin,
Brilliant mind beneath,
Fizzing with electric ambition –
And on the train it was chockablock,
And as the beat dropped –
Through the white wires,
The brilliant mind froze into liquid terror
At the touch of a fist too hard and too unexpected for retaliation or defence, or a dodge.
And so the brilliant mind became unbrilliant – slodge.
Down in the depths where the man floats, you know, the man –
The man that we see. With the suit on. And that thing round his legs.
Well, down in the depths where the man floats,
The crabs sing and the fish nibble at his skin and it comes off in clumps like hair in the shower plug.
It really is a lovely environment to raise a shoal, plenty of plant life, plenty of air, just a shame he couldn’t extract it – could have made a nice life for himself down here in the depths, got a nice wife, couple of friends, some anemones.
The body is the conduit for high feelings,
This mush in my skull lets me rise above the 5’8″ of my stature.