In The Scheme Of Things

gutless form of

grey flannel

and bowler hat

tapping briefcase

with finger

pencil callused

autocratic directions

of how the

shapeless should fit

tailors chalk on cloth

decisive lines

to trim or sew

mouths stitched so

neatly shut

limbs severed so that

the fall of material

should be so suitable

old money new money

contra entries

that become the washerwomans

laundry

in colonial towns

with brighter sun

and sweated brows

grey flannel choke

and soft eton tones

cruciform stretched

with benefits denied

g&t cold pink lemonade

taking canapes on landscaped lawn

take a bow doff your cap

grateful for what you

don’t receive

inbred subservience

of the golden age

long shadows

keeping us in the dark

mouth torn open

begins to shout

blood on lips

blood on tongue

strike a match

to cauterize

and light the beacon torch

flannel shadows

cannot keep us hidden

or denied

we have voices

as we are many

and you are few

 

copyyright Chris Lawrence

 

 

natural ass bird

accelerate harder
trees tremor passed,
what is against the heart
and rain streaked glass,
prophecy and a government system
insulted by the freaks of lottery
money was not to be
the blanket of insidious content,
radio breaks it down
speed accompanies the heart,
the bitch most malicious
than spilled gasoline
with a well lie lubricated tongue
speaks of equality
pace of society,
why feel betrayed
as if she where sat alongside you
taunting as if fertile
yet as barren as a thousand year
old desert,
tires bite into blacktop
staining and smearing
with billows of smoke,
there can be only one ultimatum,
terror inflates the throat
choking on that swelling promise
of nothing,
beyond sharp curve of road
open air
and sweet mist valley
and the feeling of
wanting to fly

http://dversepoets.com/

open link night #145

tangier peanut butter

cloud closed eyelids

break down

frustration bites,

from the hearth of the desert

to letters written on a distant bed,

bleached warm animals move

still connected to womb,

she smelled the colors,

and aeroplane’s shipwrecked

in the sky

poured contents on golden wings,

there was a pirate sea

somewhere beyond her once

found intimacy now left,

forgotten sand buried

yellow dune sea,

hominid apes search

closed eyelids sealed

not with tears,

just a low iridescence of pain

on the weight of the wind,

she remained infirm

on the mattress

her spine left damaged footprints

yet something lifted

drunk on air

feast on breast before

dissolved with fire

palm fronds part,

as she sought his lips again

 

http://lafotografiaefectistaabstracta.blogspot.co.uk/

wonderful abstractions that stimulate the mind

d Oliver Goodrum / w Alexander Craig – This Is Vanity

This Is Vanity – Short Film from Oliver Goodrum on Vimeo.