The works of last night’s dreams…
Gazing at the future through trick lenses that distort headlines and astrological predictions
through the past’s hard lessons
historians employed by the winning side
little voices nag and loud voices condescend to know where you hang
what makes your world turn
Birds argue incessant in dew laden trees
waking the dead day with cursing nests feathered.
The clouds of morning…
Schizophrenic bed-wetters hiss the tarmac on automatic transmission
raising the relative silence and diving down into the distant city hum
The clouds of morning’s passing…
Fresh coffee excretes itself through sacrificial orifice into glass jar bubbling
The clouds of morning’s passing whims…
The sunrise second hand descends the optimistic side of each minute only to climb inevitably the sheer face of pessimism’s thirty lashes
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon…
Post-midday crises in cliffhanging suspense
waiting for the clock click chop
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon furnace…
Hot word welding logic burn benign
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon furnace where thoughts are forged…
And so to stumble back in head of clouds
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon furnace where thoughts are forged in wonder at the works of last night’s dreams
And so to silent slumber chin and finger tips revealed
There to be hammered on evening’s anvil and shaped by the keen eye of the moon
to be quenched in cold night fears and returned once more to awe
Gazing at the future through trick lenses that distort headlines and astrological predictions
through the past’s hard lessons
historians employed by the winning side
little voices nag and loud voices condescend to know where you hang
what makes your world turn
Birds argue incessant in dew laden trees
waking the dead day with cursing nests feathered.
The clouds of morning…
Schizophrenic bed-wetters hiss the tarmac on automatic transmission
raising the relative silence and diving down into the distant city hum
The clouds of morning’s passing…
Fresh coffee excretes itself through sacrificial orifice into glass jar bubbling
The clouds of morning’s passing whims…
The sunrise second hand descends the optimistic side of each minute only to climb inevitably the sheer face of pessimism’s thirty lashes
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon…
Post-midday crises in cliffhanging suspense
waiting for the clock click chop
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon furnace…
Hot word welding logic burn benign
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon furnace where thoughts are forged…
And so to stumble back in head of clouds
The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat the afternoon furnace where thoughts are forged in wonder at the works of last night’s dreams
And so to silent slumber chin and finger tips revealed
There to be hammered on evening’s anvil and shaped by the keen eye of the moon
to be quenched in cold night fears and returned once more to awe
5 comments:
very effective, the repetition of this line:
"The clouds of morning’s passing whims heat"
But as always, am in love with your moon references:
"There to be hammered on evening’s anvil and shaped by the keen eye of the moon
to be quenched in cold night fears and returned once more to awe"
Your alchemy lessons are always treasures - I anticipate each one eagerly........
rdg
oh my god this is soooo boring
Only the boring may be bored while waiting for the clouds of mornings television to return that sense of confidence in following the righteous host.
You've done it again Pisces, enthralled the imaginative and bored the boring. John1975 gets antsy whenever posts don't read like weapons manuals.
Ah Pisces when I saw the words Soul Mining I raised an uncertain smile!
heh Jams - uncertain emotions will do that ;]
For those who haven't heard it... Soul Mining is The The's debut album.
Post a Comment