De Rebus
Cognito. pt I.
Question
Confession Prayer Dirge
Fable Story
Moral Tale
Not a Hymn or
Chant.
For You.
Can you hear
the thunder ?
The car pulled
up and we struggled
to climb onto
the pavement.
The light that
swept thoughts from,
glassy eyes
and cold hair in our mouths,
Seemed unreal
and a backdrop in this
sentimental
drama, this love trip.
Across this
charadic town, the carrion
stalk and
hungry faces lust for you,
The winter
night pulls blood from
vampyric skin
and now we're here.....
We know what
to do,
What to do.
We take a hand
and climb through
Into the
abandoned moments of a
Long term big
deal half sorry dream.
The time drips
onto cold wooden floors
And our cold
kisses restore the moment.
Now your
chemically enhanced eyes,
Droplets of
witchhazel burst and soakaway,
Blood veined
tell-tale life style late nights,
Reach through
smoke to pin-point my weakness.
I catch your
vulnerable strength,
and in this
damp cold room we carry our
Thoughts, in
blanketed baskets.
Full-cry in
silent movies,
And seventh
sense catches the storm,
Flinch and
swim in this hour,
In deep
draughts of cheap wine,
Blood drips
from your lips and chin,
To my tongue
and laughter,
And kissing
away the grapes truth,
We kiss away
the time and reason.
Whereupon the
cards are thrown,
Tricks are
spent, and strategies owned,
To perceive
the real place for this our love,
And to catch
hold of some bejewelled skin.
The changing
wind of ice
Gives this
game to sacrifice,
And quick to
bed to hide within,
To relive
unoriginal gift and sin.
And now we
truly sink in seas,
Of arms and
legs and scented breeze,
And cold
harbour for these heated plays,
To forget the
coming of foreign days.
Whereupon the
returning actor....
Leaves one
game to begin another,
Finding
shelter in long forgotten arms,
To burst
through the veil,
To succeed,
Not to fail.
And while on
one hand, I know you're gone,
You're here
and your influence is fairly strong,
My betrayal to
the non-committed one,
Leaves me
inside where I was all along.
Can you hear
my hard lonely heart ?
As the storm
screams out to muffle this ?
And not so
sure,
Not so proud,
The car
driver catches my eyes,
In the
mirror of the car in front,
And the
warmth of your hand,
And the
clenching of love, so blunt.
Choose which
of these lanes is yours,
Deny the
thrill that I know we seek,
And walk with
me on high blown moors,
in pitch
night meandering real dreams.
But alone and
lost at 2 thousand feet,
In low dense
cloud,
I felt real
fear, cutting and taunting,
"Give up
! Give up !"
"You
cannot go on...!"
And I knew the
silence was my strength.
Playing games
where rules change,
Playing with
you, who play with me,
Doesn't stop
this actor bleeding.
Wet kittens,
by their near dead mother,
Return the
warmth she needs to survive.
The fire
behind the wall of stone.
And, melting
your reserve
The wine and
dope and genuine minutes,
The ships and
hills and beds,
The party that
killed us dead,
The seductive
sounds of intimate breath,
Warmth in real
kisses,
And damp hair,
And tight
hugs,
And thunder
storm demonic sex.
We stayed up
late to taste our
Instant
intimate short-lived love.
You, who would
take my life from me,
Would run me
to the very edge,
Make me
worship what we never had,
And then drop
me upon Act II.
And the local
radio station pisses me off,
Reflecting
popular abused complaint,
The darkness
is no less real,
Or cold, or
needed.
And I wake to
cold, cold night.
This freedom,
tied about with thongs,
And straps,
and rope, and string,
Is the power
to act upon free decision,
But your
wicked influence is strong.
During the
night, the fox-call,
The screaming,
The screeching
of another drunk car,
And a casual
dust-off,
Pin-point this
target,
Scan, and lock
missiles.
And as the
flaming heads,
Fly invisibly
in silent sorrow,
Clinical and
mystical,
The bloody
hand of man,
Shakes the
white hand of a white god.
Another
ambulance, another victim,
Another chance
to remove your ideas,
To pull back
from the norm,
Tongues
entwine to forget the night.
And the music
rolls on,
Washing that
untouchable point in your mind,
Enhanced by
fatigue,
Entwined with
smoky motives,
Enshrouded in
this hot dark room,
And
accompanied by stressed heart-pulse beat-strong.
The night is
indefinite and infinite,
Ending only
momentarily for starlight,
And the caress
in passing, of your lover.
Upon
reflection of lidded eyes,
The call came
to bury the saints,
To enflame the
engulfing hypocrisy,
And to just
back off and apologise,
A sorry sight
for sorry eyes.
Bitter wine,
another bad year,
Another
vintage best forgot,
And now I
climb through these rocks,
To forgetful
iced air.
Grazed hands,
Grit in mouth,
And sweat on
my back,
And now I can
breath,
Now I can
taste you,
Dear mother of
all,
Leave me here
to dance,
And dream, and
fall down dead.
Another
monument to wasted life,
Time perhaps
to question why,
To remove the
arrow from your eye.
Touch the pain
of plate glass,
The pane of
your vision,
And the screen
of the voiceless,
The scream of
reason,
And drums,
And kiss my
throat,
Throttle my
objection,
And choke my
antipathy.
Wise moth
hear my words,
Chasing round
and mania,
Insania,
Crazier,
Crazed glass
moth,
Burn quickly.
Die young,
Die young.
And the joint
burned, your dress,
And my eyes,
And the candle
killed the moth,
Of our futile
games.
For this
sensitive reaction,
Tears in the
theatre of lights,
And weeping at
old songs,
And stories of
loves long lost,
We find out
so much by midnight.
There is no
substitute for time lost,
No time at all
to count the cost,
No way to
unfreeze cats killed by frost,
And there goes
another grey haired corpse.
Bodies of
living dead drive past
At blurred
speed to unknown ends.
Your face has
changed, you've put on weight,
And your name
?
What was your
name ?
I suppose it
hardly means anything,
Hardly seems
to capture the essence thing.
Flute or
violin ?
Sex and love ?
Beer and fags,
Loving girls,
and tired slags.
Remind me when
I'm up,
When you know
its my turn to live,
For "live"
is all I look forward to now,
Being nearly
one of you,
The living
dead,
Washed out
old hacks,
Tie-dye
jeans and cotton sacks.
Relive my
truest fantasy in your body,
In your head
my eyes look out,
And, casting
round your eyes....
I see
I see a whole
of oranged blue,
Something more
for us to do,
What we may
well become,
And nothing's
ever really new.
Been done
before,
Will be done
again,
Scratching at
the rotten sore,
Clucking of a
pregnant hen.
What do I see
?
I see
I see...
A blank page,
face and life,
Trapped in
your head when
You're my
wife.
I see
Images new of
stories old,
Goddesses
green are bought and sold,
And Indians,
and Jews,
And drowning
in the blues,
And jumping in
the snooker queues,
Slipping
silently inside of you,
I slip out
again.
I see
Naked paradise
birds with french-fried chips,
I see semen
running on sweaty hips,
Dripping sex
from your pouting lips,
Fingers
whitening at the very tips.
You touch me,
and I grow hard again,
I am swimming
in macho bravo,
Love-lust and
a foreign train,
Play it all,
with plumb bravado,
And I've seen
you before,
What's your
game ?
This car
stinks, the traffic stuck,
The lady in
front still holds my eye,
In her mirror
cold,
And deep, 2
cars between,
Breaking
through from Wonderland,
Into a
stranger's car,
And eyes, and
thighs,
And now the
lights change,
I'm spat out
out of her car,
Like unwanted
pips,
Or stone, or
nothing known,
Off the rails,
"At last
!" she cried,
She let slip
and the clock,
Killed the
moment.
Off the
tracks, missing it somehow.
But, when I
realised the 3 Goddesses
already knew
where I lived,
and what I
liked to do in bed,
I laughed.
I sat back on
the rocking chair verandah,
And laughed
until I split my sides,
And bled
laughter on the evening breeze,
To ears of
foreign invader agents,
And to the
miserable bastard next door
(..kind of
feeling..)
So the
laughter drifted to ears of unborn
babies who
never lack for anything,
except
original love.
Original,
fake, the Eleventh commandment,
Broken stone
tablets on the table,
And razored
mirrors,
Stinking
bedsits,
Stinking beds,
And a straw up
your upturned nose,
To that empty
space, your head,
Wait for me.
For christ's
sake,
Wait for me, I
don't want to die yet.
You were all
"the one",
Different kind
of smiles upon,
Some to teach
a different song,
And some to
teach me right and wrong,
And some to
hurt me.
Some to hurt
me, I know you're reading this,
Wherever,
Whoever,
Whenever.
I sit here in
the '90s, in a crumbling night,
And, somehow,
you're here too,
The music,
stopped at a scratched junction,
Between, my
head now,
And yours,
out when.
See what I am
?
What do I see
?
I can't really
see you of course,
When you sit
next to me...
Will I know ?
Will I see
its you I need to be,
Stop
worrying, you'll be me.
We eventually
leave the car,
Though much is
left unsaid,
Borrowing
hints of furtive looks,
And a look
that left me dead.
And stumbling
through words,
To your front
door,
I know you
know I know you know,
And it hurts,
I think.
I bet you hurt
a bit don't you ?
Well, darkness
and light, and all that,
Sitting in
this little flat,
Deaf to
reason, and perhaps to rhyme,
Never seemed
to really find the time,
To tell you
all I want you,
All at once
and all alone,
To suck at
your pelvic bone,
To kiss you on
the telephone.
Untold dangers
lurk within,
That second
layer of second skin,
But ignore
them now and feel my love,
Intimated
emotion in a red hot glove.
And while
there are no more crossed lines,
We still
confuse love with mellow times,
Try to be what
others want us to be,
Never ever
really truly free.
The fire
burned out,
The gas ran
out,
I sit in
silence,
In solitude,
But
Not really.
Swing, baby
swing,
Now we
remember everything.
(And the night
is but young.)
Living days of
unstructured plays,
Await us on
this exposed hill,
When the wind
changed direction,
No heating
could save this love.
But now we
see, the picture's cleared,
Revealing what
I always feared,
Brittania's
face, all scratched and gaunt,
Images that
linger, and us do haunt.
In the whorls
of sound,
On the
mountain rocks and dwells,
In the icy
clouds,
In my
petrified head,
On the cliffs
I walked,
The distant
sound of cries for help,
And, nothing.
I see
everything in my world,
Its here in
this zero visibility,
When the
traitorous kiss of cold dead air,
Licks the hope
from frozen skin,
And lost hours
in darkness.
Two finger
gesture to your gods,
To rob me of
my only hope,
The scrub
and rock-strewn, high sheep-trods,
Images of
falling, caught in noose of rope.
Because at the
very last second,
When all fear
and hope are confused a bit,
The strength
never quite gives out,
And,
meandering, fatigue-drunk,
Your goal is
viewed.....
What do I see
now ?
A distant
light on a foreign hill,
Beacons to
guide these faltering steps,
Meander with
me,
What can you
see ?
Kittens in
straw and an open door,
Sanctuary
for this scary night.
By now the
games had gone too far,
And no amount
of time could save me.
Which girl are
you this time ?
(Some have
kisses and some love crime,)
I called to
see if you were fine,
And to pass
love down this telephone line.
Are you "the
one", or three ?
Something
completely new to me ?
Something
hungry, or to be set free ?
Or are you
just here to drop off my key ?
As the druggy
vapours lifted,
And we came
back into life,
I could see
you were truly gifted,
I'll be your
man if you'll be my wife.
The moors
were dark dreary,
cold
places, no need to
give them a
second thought.
But this
mountain, hell-fire,
severe and
stark a mirror
to your
mind this time.
And the
sea-storm,
The fatal
air-crash,
The erupting
exploding fire ball,
And long train
journeys,
And beers,
And smokes,
And sounds,
Perfect shells
in my ancient ears.
Lost love,
seconds grabbed in frenzy,
And sordid ?
Not anything
we could ever be,
Not when I am
you, you are me.
A thunder
crack decided our path,
To shelter in
the secret folly,
To secrete
ourselves from skies of wrath,
In groves of
hawthorn, elder and holly.
The horses
stayed awake all night,
As the storm
screamed through from
West to East,
and through your heart,
Cleansing all
pretence,
All kidding
over,
Kiss me, my
blank faced lover,
And shed your
clothes, my skin,
your cover.
Later that day
your heat had died,
I had aided a
murder, and you froze over.
Your loving
eyes now full of hatred,
Perhaps the
dream was a sham as well.
Looking into
the Rhosilli sea,
From the last
resting place of man,
I saw your
loving eyes and flew free,
What had
ended, now re-began.
New skin,
New hair,
New face,
But you're
still the love I need.
Does it matter
if you're old ?
Or if you're
far too young ?
Come here,
take away my cold,
A new song, to
be sung.
And shall I
love your children ?
How many are
mine to give away my love ?
To give all,
my love ?
We flew with
men-birds,
Over the
Irish Sea,
And surf and
sand and free,
So free.
You were
sixteen in Bretton Park,
Or twenty-four
in a holy place,
You were
nineteen in endless dark,
And had an
older face.
You needed me,
I tell myself
its true,
You were the
one, the three,
I must believe
in you.
For what else
do we strive for ?
I am utterly
found, and lost again,
And all that I
need is to be held,
I need to
catch tomorrows lonely train,
Not to be the
tree you felled.
Oh hell, woman
come here.
The music
grows now, from a background colour,
with mellow
streaming,
To a leading
force.
A prime mover
to obey,
A damn good
reason not to be here at all.
We sit in our
own silence and follow,
Solitude
strolls to other worlds and times,
Driftwood
trips to rocky pools,
To unanswered
questions,
To our private
ghosts,
To those
painful gaps,
Where
childhood lost love should fit.
To the cure,
To find an
answer; "Why ?"
Why did we
need so much more love
than they
could ever give ?
You were so
wild,
So erratically
erotic,
And so scared
and scarred and
So frightened,
so hard.
We needed to
close those gaps,
For just that
briefest time,
As our
mirrored love around us wraps,
And just then,
amid the grime...
I must have
touched too far,
Inside your
head,
I must have
pushed too hard,
To keep the
moment fed.
For you
snapped back in,
To this sorry
frozen plane,
My needle
jumped its tracking,
And out came,
poured, your pain.
Give me speed,
Give me pills,
Give me
instant
Sorry thrills.
The pottery
smashed the moment and
The wine ran
over the glass
And you stood
in it all and killed me.
Its weeks or
months later and we only
now realise
that we should have
blamed the
music, our parents, our
friends, our
pets, our selves, but
never ever
ever each other,
Not again.
(Years later
we slot back in bed.)
Same name, but
you should have left,
For now I'm
part of something else,
Someone else
owns a piece of me,
And this
second is very briefly false.
I always
believed I loved red-heads more,
Not blondes,
Maybe now I
need your darkness,
I need to
believe it was all for me.
The gaps,
From this high
mountain I see clearly,
The gaps in my
life,
My sad and
sorry self blaming and fears.
And now I know
that it doesn't
seem so
much,
To know the
truth, to feel the
mother's
holy touch,
To carry this
thought, through the
timeless
moment at the midnight
hour.
To where we
need no more names
Or sex
Or words
Or bodies.
As our
entropic minds break down to
Unholy
enraptured chaotic mush,
To intense
orgasmic, exploding highs,
To touch the
skies
To run on
water
To fields of
blue
To where we
can see its true
It doesn't
matter what you do
And, no words.
I can see
clearly, these gaps now.
Clumsily
climbing like blind rats,
Through each
others lives,
Our
perception subtly altered
Before the
death rush.
I need MORE
now,
Tommorow I
go.
Like a
reversed role opera,
I praise the
death of love,
Perverse
reverse revenge on them,
Who hurt me as
I hurt them.
Them.
They, we,
us, you, me, him,
Now her, I
and those,
Start to
drown while away I swim,
Join, my
friends, the carrion crowage.
(Crow Age,
crows age, Age Of Crows, the age of the crow is indeterminate, The
Age Of The Crow is now.)
Can we sit
here and really blame the music ?
You scream at
me :
"Stop
playing bloody games !"
(I know why
you're here, but not why I came.)
She walks
home, alone, and in a temper.
So who are you
?
Her
interfering mother ?
Her man, her
friend or brother ?
Are you
Really
here ?
Or, like me,
freer ?
Are you her
daughter,
Or perhaps
Sister Slaughter ?
Perhaps you
wear skin and fur,
Maybe
You are her.
Camera opera
on dripping walls,
Prints of
stolen second glances,
Living under
poor roof water falls,
And taking
dodgy chances.
This shutter
blows hard back the wind,
A hailing
storm of loves lost,
With hail
And sleet,
And acid snow,
Remind me when
to go.
Yet the
passionate person you glimpsed,
For a brief
slip within,
Was once alive
and alert and free,
But now you
own all of me,
For I must be
gone,
For you to be
here at all,
That stinks
to me.
And where did
you go that night ? When we fell, and tripped through light ?
When necklaces
were over-tight, and you lead me to this blight ?
Scream at me
you love me,
And hang down
high above me,
Stroke and
velvet iron glove me,
Hate and
white peace dove me.
And
need me
Feed me
Taste me
and
Waste
me.
A short while
before dawn I turn to you,
"So, do
you know me anymore ?"
The answer
was nothing new,
Having never
really seen you,
Do I really
know you ?
Were you
there, when we flew ?
Intense and
deadly serious,
Mind games are
frightening things,
Tired, stoned,
drunk, delirious,
Can sell, or
topple kings.
Can kill and
burn and maim,
Like your love
can do the same,
I'm a picture
in you Hall of Fame,
One to carry
all the blame.
3 little
words, fly above me,
The best
words, you love me.
And coming
to the edge of communication
We blank
out fear to bridge a gap.
But, despite
illustrated mimes and shadow plays,
Puppetry,
mummery, mirth and summer days,
I have a deep
smouldering temper hot,
Slow to
ignite, but don't say I warned you not.
But, the point
is so far removed from the hilt,
When buried in
this eider quilt,
Time now to
disbelieve the guilt,
Paddling
shores of love, sand, silt.
Many the
dawns, quick coming morns,
Echoing
horns......and now we awake,
In the place
of our fathers, land of our children,
And ripening
orchards,
And the lintel
above the door proclaims the year...
Seventeen
thirty six.
Come, awake my
beautiful sister bride,
Harness
yourself for this wonderful ride,
And wrap me in
your love.
Shake the
night from your head,
Slip out
softly from the tousled bed,
And step out
with me to
A new day,
full of new promise.
Cold winter's
fresh crisp frozen lawns,
Stone and
white-washed rails,
Logs chopped,
chipped, spilt and sawn,,
The smell of
bacon never fails.
A steaming mug
of fresh made tea,
And a serious
stolen touch,
Kiss me.
Come here,
kiss me.
Back into the
car of worn stories,
Back to the
winding river paths,
And the three
score and some endless trip,
And the
quiver of your delicious lips.
Come here my
girl,
Look, can you
see we are alive, and real ?
Did we clamber
up into sunbeam dust attic space,
To taste
cobweb breath and smokey quiet laughter,
To listen to
Pakistan and Paraguayan "Ham" radios ?
To descend
into today and drive away,
And holding
hands in public bars,
Declaring our
interest in each other
Before
tattling hordes of peerless zeroes ?
Or did I do
all that alone,
With warm but
vacant space adjoining ?
Iced
waterfalls,
You strip
off. Ha !
Neither
of us are so dumb,
So come here,
Come over here
and be the one,
For now,
Or forever.
Are you the
One, or none ?
I watched you
bathing,
I watched you
shopping,
I caught your
eye and sent it back,
The glance
thus dropped was held and how
We stumbled
through cliched phrase and
Parrot-like we
made our intentions known,
You Welsh
dreamer,
Nanny,
Cook,
Frequenter of
gay-bars,
Landlady,
Dreamer,
Driver of
lunacy, and intense one-nighters,
And is my trip
to end with you ?
To dream, to
dream,
Perhaps to
die,
To slip into
the dark,
The glint in
the corner of your eye,
And encounters
in Bryn-Mill Parc.
And Swansea
wasn't really like that,
A place for
discovery
Instant
recovery,
And love trip
death games, was it ?
Then the
mountain reappeared,
And to see
your lakes,
Your cliffs
and crags,
Was like
coming in, at last.
I'm here.
Hear that ?
Swans flying
over Holmfirth at 6 am,
And the
herons, disturbed from Wards' Bank,
Moorland
heather, comes into view,
And the wild
harsh stark scene is set,
Have you come
home yet ?
A million love
affairs,
And you
knocked on my door,
We married our
eyes,
And lied
hideous prayers to ourselves,
Patiently
playing psyched-up gambits,
And loving for
the thrill,
To fill our
gaps,
The gaps I see
from here,
But despite it
all, I guess I'm home.
We rented our
tents to the needy,
God said,
"Don't be so greedy !"
Build your
house from solid rocks,
Let them live
in a cardboard box.
So, we
abandoned all,
Nothing left
to prevent our fall,
Perhaps we
should give God a call,
Make Him
welcome in this hall.
Stand Him up
against the wall,
And set, one
day a holy ball,
Amidst some
great big shopping mall,
Where He
wouldn't look so tall.
Have you
really seen God ?
You are God.
God is.
We see God
all around,
Not some high
place above the ground.
Come here,
this wine is for you, come.
The smell of
speed on your kiss,
Was far too
strong for me to miss,
Despairing
just a little, slightly,
Dying here,
with you twice nightly.
Bells at sunny
summers' midday,
Calling out
that England's okay,
And in
fictional sweet meadows we stroll,
Gripping
tightly, not to lose control.
Clasping at
straws,
Clutching
at random snow-drops,
Earlier
this year,
For
January, I will love you.
In March, I
may wed you,
But rather the
solstice,
When my gods
walk free among us,
And we feast
in dead gardens,
On mythical
birds, and
Dreamy holly
topped infusion,
Of old hazels
and
Wisdom stones.
Come here
babe,
Tell me you
love me,
Tell me you
need me,
Walk with me
and
Enter this
afterworld,
Dare call it
Heaven ?
Or fields of
glorious Elysia ?
And replant
my footsteps,
In your
singular Eden.
Petty
daemons kissing,
In
shrubbery borders,
Sharpen
your love on me,
Lay all
your love on me.
Babe,
love-thing, monstrous,
Fits of
fury and warmth,
And
ardour and blood streaming.
Open cut
heart wounds
From
your blunt words.
Come here
girl,
Enter the
crowd and swim,
Emotional
meetings on wet stations,
Followed by
non-stop insania,
Crazier,
babier, be my sweet Fabia.
Without
warning, the picture remained,
And a figment
of imagery died,
It was
time then to stop being sane,
And to
disregard, no, thought why you lied.
And after all
these bloody years, my love,
My Goddess all
the things I've done for you,
My
fingerprints still pierced through your glove,
And there was
nothing I could do.
But once
more I phone and beg to recall,
Something in return for all I've done,
A little
favour, hardly anything at all,
But,
could you let me find "The One" ?
I listen,
meditation stance and trance,
Inward minutes
of brilliant insight,
My image
concious subliminal, mental dance,
And hear the
sound of a lonely night.
Awake my lady
and kiss me now,
I pray this
yearning is incurable.
Come, kiss
me.
