Oh, blood of my blood - the forgotten aeons.
The faceless boundaries of my mind.
Lips like forests, violets, lilacs on an autumn mist.
A time for sweet wine, flagons of beer, cans of lager.
Fevered sweat on my brow, blood on paper,
Tang of graphite in my mouth and in my body.
Cell mates, torn from limb to precious limb.
Lifeless analogies, contend, contention, contribution.
All the follies of the pasts, sweep away like lost leaves.
New ventures come my way,
More poetry it seems.
Such delight, such utter brutality.
Loneliness on a summer night.
Flight of moth 'round lamp,
Spinning towards infinity, immortality, intangibility.
The rush of images, two sides of brain part.
Lush hillsides and grey valleys of yesteryear.
Spilt redness on sunny, snowly slope.
Eyes meet again, in painful stare;
Pricks in the back garden - night.
Oh, the endless oppressive night.
My dreams, eidolons of my fantasies,
Perversions of my interiors,
Contusions from my realities.
Specific credit where specific credit due.
Dry now, my belly draws in.
The aftermath of the shimmer-storm.
Birmingham, summer 1989
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