Communication 129

trigger

there’s something
useless inside,
I can’t deny
I’ve tried
hard to fight it
to find a reason
to seek exile,
I’m afraid
if I confess
I’ll be met
with denial,
triggering
a downward spiral,
to distances
only traveled
in nautical miles,
bound to
a paralysis
felt only in
the silent hours,
when others
gently pilot
their dreams,
guiding them
beautifully
by the
kite strings,
resting
releasing,
giving
birth to
a new
articulated
version
of clarity,
then
opening
their eyes
to the
new day

my eyes
haven’t closed
for weeks,
I long for
the shelter
of sleep,
to dream
indefinitely,
never to wake,
I don’t care
what I have
to take,
please
just let
me rest,
there’s
a poison
I need
to syphon
out my head,
there’s
a corruption
in my
stomach,
my hearts
pumping lead,
there’s a
mystery
running through
every vein
and artery,
I don’t know
what’s wrong
with me

Communication 128

virtual machine

we erased ourselves so long ago,

I can’t deny we’ve tried hard to survive,

but so much of us has died,

there’s no truth within their lie,

it’s undeniable, but alas,

us humans are spectacularly pliable,

moulded by the hidden hand

with such nuance and dexterity,

I’ve lost myself, I feel unclean

having resigned my mind

to a virtual machine,

I now witness my feelings flowing

from the prison of my bed,

with a thousand tiny wires

stitched deep inside my head,

body after body,

a corpse of devolution,

genocide, a nuclear tide,

strategic persecution,

it makes no difference

who’s running the show

there’s an inherent glitch

in the wires they stitch,

I’ve lost myself, I feel unclean

let those who suffer

try the virtual machine,

you’ll soon learn to forget

just put on our headset,

if you like what you see

you can take the next step,

we’ll attached these tiny wires

deep inside your head,

you won’t hurt anymore

or perceive a true emotion,

you won’t challenge or question

the purpose of this creation

Communication 127

tell me why

there’s a disorder in you my friend,
a misdemeanour, a gradual osmosis,
a theft of a person through quiet hypnosis,
you’ve been reshaped and reformed,
you now claim to be reborn,
through a faith so baseless,
you’re forced to confess
thought-crimes that don’t align perfectly
with your masters teaching,
there’s no substance
to the fairytale he’s preaching, 
there’s a shroud,
a vale,
years upon years of untold betrayal,
such conditioning needs erasing
forget the fiction you’ve been perusing,
or the children your masters been abusing

I want the facts, give it to me straight,
nothing from ‘the good book’
helps me relate
to the hatred that I’m seeing,
or the anger that I’m feeling,
tell me why I’m watching the injured crawling,
men, woman and children falling,
limbs torn apart by the bombs they’re dropping,
tell me why such violence is
paraded through the streets,
bound and gagged, shackled hands,
dragged along like meat by the feet,
in the name of your ‘GOD’ it all
appears condoned, forced to kneel
then savagely stoned
to death,
whilst rabid animals dance and chant,
you can’t tell me this is ‘GODS’ will,
as they cut off the head
and set fire to the rest

Communication 126

to cast a line

bodies, they come
lives, they go,
many leave
with nothing to show,
alone forever,
dying of boredom
wandering directionless,
victims of an emptiness,
it’s hard to define
the need to cast a line,
into a void of a thousand
questions, sail forth now
without apprehension,
release the doubt
and contention,
we’re here to learn,
to make a connection,
to expand our mind
and perception,
we embrace a path,
so often obscured
by the many
who have fallen
overboard,
but me and you,
we’re self-assured,
we know why
we’ve been chosen,
the angler in us
never dies,
however hard one tries
we know,
it’s the water
where the answer lies

Communication 125

the limpet parade

all eyes on the minute hand
a conscience countdown collectively shared,
team building, bribes and brokering,
you ain’t winning unless you’ve been drinking,
it’s all in the lines they’re snorting,
it’s all in the cufflinks he’s sporting,
getting paid then getting laid,
you’re a fully fledged member of the limpet parade,
they all start spawning come five o’clock,
dressed in their strides and matching tops,
clean shaven sides, a quick trip to the barbershop,
it’s Friday night - “lets party till we drop”
nine pints in, you ain’t winning unless you’re bingeing,
I can’t take it seriously,
there’s no truth in the pills he’s taking,
forget about the details, it’s all just booty shaking,
“hang on a minute a mate” – that’s my girl you're groping,
that’s my mate he’s dissing,
that’s my wife he’s grabbing and kissing,
that’s a glass you’re smashing, with one wild swing,
that’s my face you’re slashing,
I’m slumping to the floor,
that’s my skull you’re kicking,
it’s my blood that’s dripping,
the night’s already gone a little too far,
so lets move onto the next bar,
the streets are sprawling battle grounds,
it’s the same old story in every town,
until the Sunday night ‘comedown’,
but we’ve got a good few days to go,
you only live once so grab a girl,
force her to dance,
ply her full of booze and drugs,
if you can’t pull,
slip a single Rohypnol
into her glass, when she’s distracted
take her home before she’s reacted,
keep it quiet, keep it clean
she won’t remember a thing,
it’s a one night stand,
a meaningless fling,
a great story to tell
come Monday morning