The Great Grey Stomach Boulder

Glazed over
Again.
Twisted, whirling anarchy of despairing obsoletion
This world
Graceless
Crackly
TV fuzz
Which nobody hears
I panic.

Ghostly
Folded mess
It is.
Gushing oceans forced out of the windows
Wash none of it
Away.
The sagging
Unrelenting
Symphonic nothing
I gasp.

It peers
Around heart corners.
And rolls in a foggy whisper
To settle
And decay.
Dull ferocity
In a hairy-throated
Choked up cage
Where I sit
And soak.

Reptile.
Watch the old man shiver
And stink
And reach
Unheard ramblings of a callous, raw heel-crack life
Buried in the dust.

Senseless
Circles of cloudy woes
All have heard
And skimmed through.
A plastered up, filed down
Gloved hand
To forget everything
But slaps and grabs.

Quiver.
No flight nor cries
A weeper in the sea.
This colossal, erupting holocaust
Is a wrapper
Tossed
To bin.

And fleeting half-smiles
Whence hope must grow
Those holes of sun
The canopy breathes through
I let float
Above my head.
My safety
In the stars...
Died.
When the grope
In stomach
Stuck.

Damp
This greedy fungus
Crooning
In festering
Grunge.
It lurks
Here
In my heart.

Willow.
Vomit-eating
Slug.
Which waits
For salty rain
To burn.

A manifestation of all the tiny prayers - signs, songs and open arms - and smiling time and quiet calm
I crept from.
Lost and done.
For good.

Carried Away

It has been painfully long since I last posted here. This is me, cherishing a fleeting yet perfect moment in my life: I am on holiday. I am lying in an electrically-heated bed with no plans for tomorrow and a whole night for dreaming. And I have decided that I am ready to connect with it all again. It has been a while, but I have found my senses and they are magnified and wonderful. Also, I may be just a little high... on the satisfaction of having finished my first ever (proper) musical composition. I never believed I had it in me, but it just kept falling out of me on to the piano like some sort of gloriously interminable waterfall.