I step forward to nostalgic realms breached by ivory fingertips

transported by a demon calling my name in an angelic song

driving me towards synergistic levels of anarchistic mayhem.


I am crossing voids that reach through the tornados of time,

twisting the roads of my life.

Paintings of melted images hang before my eyes

and a black magic voice chants on the breeze.


The scenery blurs and Tantric creatures arrive

crawling and slipping into the valley.

The hills begin to moan, the ground begins to shake,

pieces fall away and I purge, into a gulf of skylights

weightless and free, with no judgment or holds.


I am in control!


Forth-ward I move into a world of my design.

The terrain is heavy beneath my feet and I run,

the creator of all things surviving in this life

spanned with a tribe of trials and tribulations.


I hear the wailing mothers on their knees

their penitent screams to understand why.

I hear the wails.

I hear the wails screaming.

I hear the whales singing.

I hear the song of whales

as mothers weeping in slow motion

and beaching themselves to their ends.


Buddhists ignite fires of protest against the sons of man

fighting and thriving in this satellite.

A virus, breeding pollutions of ignorant ideas

by nations of space monkeys

covering see no, speak no and hear no…

while pointing fingers at the evil around them.


By morning the red sun rises, dripping from

the blood of oppression spilling every night.

We are out of words and coming to our end.

The road warriors are scrambling brains

with trails blazing into a supernova sunset.


Living is a slow burn on a short fuse

awaiting the last blast in the quiet alone

where deaf ears hear only ignorance

closed to the knowledge of the final ‘gasm of life.


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