Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Chaos Fearie



Armed with minimalist pipe dreams
and dogmatic conspirator schemes
The duo lie low in ambush awaiting the downpour abating

Sister double deranger
green eyes ogle her pornographic burka
Her habit concealing the silicon stranger
Brother berserker
a yellow dog psychotic evangelic ranger
a cross-dressing deserter
from the army of attitude arrangers

Together they suck on the crucifix but don’t suffer the pretext
that led them to sleep on your doorstep
and lay down the laws (for a charitable cause)
and demand that you follow the leader

Law 1:
Don’t spit on the street or shuffle your feet
but maximise your returns at the station of dreams
and ancient pyramid schemes
While locomotives fish-tail a Cadillac-motif detail
On the retrograde moon
And cover those manholes
where girl guides shelter their cause
like the tarnish on your mum’s silver spoon
And the scratches on doors from marshmallow werewolf paws

Law 2:
The man from insurance broken
will leave you a redeemable token
a schedule of smiles and tax-deductible miles
a mask-painted face complete with tears of disgrace
for the laces entangled in toenail truth mangled
and fingers and thumbs for those cannibal drums
that threaten to eat the night sky

Law 3:
No naked flames, aeroplanes or under-dressed salad bars
No forks or no spoons dangerous objects digested
in the office where they manufacture the twinkling stars
for consumption by glossy-eyed passive page-turners
Whose only request is to be pissed on by the best
and to glow in the warmth of their passing

And who would have guessed that the very well dressed
would be soiling their nests
with the cash from your voyeuristic interest
While the rest of us danced to the puppeteer’s epileptic stance
so that the coins in our pockets did jangle
And the heart of the matter, the mind over clatter,
could best be observed from this angle

And try as I might to keep putting up a fight
I find myself tied to the rail
That hums with the strain of the oncoming train
and the black cloak of the ultimate station
Where freedom awaits, devoid of hope's pearly gates
or the horror of life everlasting.

And the words that you choke in the back of your throat
will fly from your mouth...
...like confetti at the wedding of wonder
and a lightning strike force, a final divorce
that will cleave all your atoms asunder
and send you to bed with all those books that you’ve read
but never bothered to open in wonder

8 comments:

red dirt girl said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
red dirt girl said...

loving the gerard brom ... definitely reveals your more romantic and sensual side, pisces .... !! i might have to blog thief this one ...

(oops, that was me above ... i forgot to bring my dictionary with me ...)

gregra&gar said...

This one has the fractal tangents of my imagination glancing off so readily it took many orbits to assure myself their was a body on which to land. With dedication and love of language you wrote and I persevered through the exotic colors and flavours and odours to find, like one alighting upon the palpable parts of Venus, that you, sir, are no gas bag. Not that I ever suspected so, it just turned out to be a handy metaphor.

Pisces Iscariot said...

Thank you Greg, your high praise is greatly appreciated.

red dirt girl said...

hahahah .... chaos fearie I just got that reference. Yes, i'm slow.

glad you liked Weems. she is my thank you to you for letting me steal the Brom. Peace sits quite nicely at red dirt girl. Once my legal issues are settled, i will 'reveal' the rest of her. ha. you know red dirt girl is loving the saddle and holster .....

ride on, Peace. write on, Pisces.

red

red dirt girl said...

hm... good idea for a post: acting. don't you think we all act to some extent ? i wonder what the world would be like if we were truly 'ourselves' ..... oops. that sounds like a philosophical debate. i definitely don't want to go there again. maybe there is no such thing as a 'true' self .... we are all just pinballs randomly clanging and pinging around in this big pinball machine called life.

spelling - ha. i make sure and keep my dictionary right next to the computer now. oh the shame ......

red dirt girl said...

wow - new title - cool. when did that happen ?? did you just throw that up ?? i mean i've been roaming around your place, unable to sleep tonight - and all of a sudden - there it is...

but then again, it wouldn't be the first time i've missed the boat, the train, the plane ...

i think i need to sleep....

red dirt girl said...

nice. very nice. i particularly like the subliminal loitering message. i thought i was going to be the proud parent of a techno ... but then he discovered girls. hmm. i'm now the proud parent of a hormone crazed cross country runner. not a bad trade off ? oh for the simpler days ....