Jonsi

March of the arachnids after he kicked the
bucket in delicate Icelandic tones,
Jonsi’s Gobbledygook remains the most
beautiful musical medium of
transversing across the mind’s antipodes.
Human ears discern utter emotion
in a crowd too lost in straight-sighted
passion to witness the many acts of
pure affection playing out beneath the
laser beams spearing this dark tent of hope.
Floating above the shadowy bobbing
heads of the revellers is a mangled
dollar sign that exposes itself as
a twisted heart-shaped balloon which becomes
rainbow coloured when pierced by the lasers,
with a solitary red bulb dotting off
its bizarre existence of entrancement.
And the lighters come out, not to spark a
cigarette or a joint, but to acknowledge
the pulsing beats’ part in gifting life to
the forests, the fire flies and the ravens
that now two dimensionally materialise.
Jonsi tells us to go do and do we go,
all of us faceless strangers swept away
in the euphoria of clapping and
the rising crescendo of the rhythm.
This reverie of conjuring tricks that
has fooled my mind feels like a moment long
drawn out that will never be repeated -
and the truth of that thought makes me want to
cry in mourning for the loss of the present.

Induced

The fatigue entrances the street lights either side
of me so they begin to dance before my weary eyes.
As I walk home alone the moon appears to my right
and begins laughing softly in my ear - an attempt
to distract me from the temptations of the nocturnal night.
I reach the car park and spot a black cat jealously guarding
the surrounding mass of empty concrete that will be
filled within several hours anyway - an effort so utterly futile
that the stunted growth of aging perception seems like
standard stagnation to the eyes of voyeurs, the faceless strangers
who waltz through life completely certain of their “beliefs”
whilst claiming to be faithless by undivine intervention;
and a greenfly lands on my index finger as I write down
all of these insignificant events that, once upon a time,
would have induced the awe of a mesmerised child in me:
Oh, how reality hits when the world stays exactly the same!

The Stimulant

My hands tremble, dropping everything
in their fumbling grip as my body succumbs
to the tremors the metallic silver, blue and red can
failed to mention its contents would provide -
an unnecessary and unexpected fear descends as
my eyes dart this way and that, paranoia gently placing
its firm grip around the steadily increasing
beat of my heart while the customers shop unawares;
the pain of my left wrist extends to the knuckles
of my hand now as the transactions double
with the lengthening of the ceaseless stream of locals
who will simply never have enough of fulfilling their
own needs, especially the convenience store gambler,
a wretched hag out to torment me with her insistence
on awkwardly purchasing her weight in scratch cards.
A brief reprieve is sought in the bathroom, but it is
when I am locked away from the outside world that
the antipodes of my mind reveal themselves to be
the dark expanses I always feared they were, the glassiness
of my eyes reflecting my face back at me in the mirror -
and I am at a loss to explain how such a huge
haggard face came to be confined within the black
recesses of pupils so seemingly innocent (once upon a time).
The twitches begin soon after the bathroom horror
truth, and only a miniscule revelation brought on
from some irrelevant train of thought saves me
from collapsing in pure fright before my colleagues:
Time only passes in working shifts, in the things
we do, both recreational and enforced - it is only
in periods of utter stagnation, of literal nothingness,
that it begins to pass in seconds, minutes, hours,
days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millennia;
and each iota of such blatant inaction could only be
deemed as ultimately being one thing when that life expires…
Wasted.

(a can of Red Bull made me feel quite uneasy in work the other day)

The Boy

The boy
Was found dead in the safety of his bed.
His lips
Were purple, so the rumours said.
His skin
So grey was callous to touch.
A life
At seventeen that never knew much.

*

Sirens
Shrilled to waken all of Newbrook.
Tears
Fell in sympathy for a home shook.
Gasps
As ambulance men removed a large black sack.
The sun
Disappeared as they stowed it in the back.

*

Naïve
Those who believe that this is so unfair.
Death
Forever chooses victims without a care.
Cloaked
He steals in like a thief in the night.
Lays
A finger upon a soul, then takes flight!

*

And sounds
Of mourning travel the channels from next door.
Reality
Comes crashing down - their boy is no more.

Sleeping Peacefully

The world sleeps while I write what they should think,
They never dream about what they should know.

The world sleeps while I feign calm acceptance,
A fine few see the futility that I see.

***

The world breathes ever so peacefully outside,
Never a stop nor stutter in false hope.

The world breathes with unnerving assurance,
And I question what it is I know and fear.

***

The world lies perfectly still despite its traumas,
Despair and death embraced alongside joy.

The world lies perfectly still despite its tears,
Hurting few as they fall with hail’s ferocity.

***

The world lives happily within its self-made storm,
Because the world knows exactly how it will end.