A Tour Through To The Ocean Floor

A tour through to the ocean floor
the tastes of salt and seaweed

some rays getting through
others still on the way down

little specks of sea dust
moving about like one massive pendulum

I can feel the cold
coming up my feet.

Order of the Day

A word for the day; 

A word for the beat,

A word for the lights,

a word instead of melancholy

...hopefully.

The Hat

Put on the busy-guy hat
while the bleeps and bloops zoom by
Walk in the rhythm that was agreed upon
stretch out your back or hit the pavement
I can taste the metal in the air
and if you somehow bump into someone it is always their fault

That's what the news told me today.

A Stroll Through the Cold, Cold Night

Waiting in the cold, cold night
As the children's laughter has long gone
Though some small echos linger
and I have to move on.

The Mouse

Bleeps and bloops
loud fingers on a the keyboard
or maybe it's just the keys
While the mouse is as quiet as ever
just like the real ones.
You only ever hear a click or two.
The keyboard can't stop.
Though I've dreamt of stopping.

The Lily

Placed in a public space
With all the ambience of green sound
As well as plastic
And loud walks and talks.
Amidst sterile walls
Between the towering columns
Right besides the front desk
Down by the floor

there lies The Lily.

The Everlasting Pump

An animal that never leaves your side
A cold chill always at the other
The dark dance around the fire
as if on a mystified chemical
that word-of-mouth said was healthy
but now illegal and dangerous
according to them

Just one little while free of the everlasting pump
That just keeps pumping you through city block
after city block
through sky-piercing building
after sky-scraping building
Even though you thought you were in a traffic-jam.

I didn't know that day-dreams would be this useful outside of school.

Church Bells Through the Hard Rain

Church bells through the hard rain
remind me of all the hours I failed to notice
three or perhaps even four days of nothing
absolutely nothing:
Vacant social life, denying access even
A stale and unalterable negative income eating its way
like a termite.

No productivity with no light at the end of the cliché'd tunnel
Waiting just as always
A body and mind in decay, disrepair, dilapidation
Nearing the enivitable fall
And the ruin that awaits.

No Future Plans

No future plans
in these plains
for a moving train
is all that is needed

No long numbers
in this empty mind and disc-space
for a drink and a chat
can always be arranged

No bed to "go at it" in
in a troubled and fashioned city
until The Lion appears
and roars at me

Saying "I've got a place for you."
"But you will need to vanish again into the morrow."