This

Unrehearsed
Stupid
Since the Kids
Nightman
Fallen (the City of Night)
Always is Next
The Light Continent

Unrehearsed

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Time for the unrehearsed entrance, show a leg you can break, down the cocktail while it's laughing at you for heaven's sake.... I can't be your protector from these deliberate mistakes. Between the "can't" and the "maybe" a lifetime's hovering in the wings: grasp the nettle, bite the bullet push your own buttons and pull your own strings. Name your poison while you've got the power, 100 proof. I can't be your protector from self-neglect or abuse. This is not a rehearsal and fear is not an excuse. And if you won't step out on the boards you'll find your place already on the shelf - you can only find the sum of your parts yourself. Unprepared and unready, is that an excuse or a point of view? You can block out the words in anagrammatical sword play but it's your own life you'll be running through. Time to drink a cocktail of your own invention for pity's sake I can't be your protector, I won't be there when you wake to honour all the hidden intentions in your deliberate mistakes, behind your deliberate mistakes. Deliberation could be mistaken for coldness of the heart; Procrastination won't get you anywhere except aloof and apart; what's the golden opportunity you're hanging on here for - isn't it just this? Go! Start! Unrehearsed and unready that's what we are, what we've all been cast into.... It's not four square, the beat's unsteady but this is this and making something of it's up to you. An unexpected exit's always waiting although you think it's something you'll bluff your way through. Spit that wooden spoon out of your mouth and eat up - the moment's long overdue. Take your medicine and face whatever the future brings I can't be your protector, can't keep you under my wing. This is not a rehearsal, this is the real thing, this is the real thing. This is for real.

Stupid

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I'm (so stupid) Along this pilgrim's accidental progress I'd bump into the walls as like as not: It's no surprise I didn't notice when I lost the plot. I went and did something (so stupid, so dumb) Error-message ever more intensive, red lights were burning on the air - no I can't say that I was consequentially unaware when I did something (so stupid, so dumb) I saw it coming (so stupid) now all I want to know is how come (how come?) we're all fingers and thumbs? Confused but not entirely aimless, though you might find comfort here is faint: if we lived lives that were quite blameless then we'd all be saints: I don't think so. Get a life: you've got to do something (so stupid) we all do something (so dumb) self-seed our own destruction nobody understands it, how come we're all fingers and thumbs?

Since the Kids

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It was simple, we were man and wife; something happened to change everything in life and made us feel small but we were giants nonetheless and here we are all in the family portrait. I've been sliding in a 2.4-wheel skid: something happened to me and since the kids all time's gone awry, direction's askew... I never thought that I would ever feel so used up. The sense of wonder, the note of panic, demands you just can't ignore nothing prepares you to be a parent, looking to join the strands of the broken chord. What you wanted, what I couldn't give... something happened to us - oh, but since the kids inherit the earth we had to plough and drill the field, nurture the shoots with our hopes and fears, never wonder about the future yield. (Never wonder, never wonder, this is real) I've been thinking about all we did, much mistaken but anyway, since the kids are now almost grown with the future in their own hands what's done is done - there'll be no unmaking our half-baked plans. Here comes the gold watch, I'll take the pension, I want the lifetime award; all for the best, with the best of intentions, the children are their own reward.... Since the kids, since the kids, since the kids mended the broken chord.

Nightman

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At the dead of night, I woke with the sense that my dreams were escaping, all uncannily unspoken like words at the tip of a foreign tongue.... As for language, I have none to express quite what strangeness overwhelms me: something's changed and something tells me to be still in the roar of the distant stars. The night's full of fire, ice and water; by day I'll have clay in my hands. The book is open at a well-thumbed mark the odds are stacked that I'm facing. Eyes grown accustomed to light and dark can't catch the shadows they're chasing. Open, my heart, to the vital spark - a disordered rhythm is racing, it's a danse macabre I'm tracing. As the fire feeds the flame, as the tongue finds expression in its flickering, does each breath inform a name to be dispersed just as soon as it's exhaled? Was it to myself I came or to some other strange and parallel existence? Will I ever see tomorrow, to wake and begin it again? Open, the book at a well-read page, hope triumphs over expectation; open, the secrets of seer and sage in awe-inspired anticipation.... Open, my mind in the body's cage, unchained in consecration; open, my eyes, to the wider stage the firestorm of liberation - the night in conflagration. With a shiver down my spine I come back to the place where I started; the sea of consciousness has parted but stranded is all that I feel for sure. As nightsight declines into darkness by day there'll be clay in my hands. I may feel the clay in my hands.

Fallen (the City of Night)

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Streets half-familiar that I once called home... the breath of phantoms now fogs the light; the skin I shuffled strangely outgrown. Fallen, the city of night Lost geographics of mortar and lime formed the arena for fight or flight; all's buried under the leafstorm of time, fallen in the city of night, fallen the city of night. All of the fences overblown, all of the gardens overgrown, all of the towers overthrown; all that I knew shall be over, become unkown in the city of night. I know that I've been here before, I know that I've been here before, but that was in another lifetime. What once seemed blessed now feels accursed with words the spendthrift burned by candlelight but now this miser's mouth is pursed: fallen, the city of night. I know that I've been here before but that was in another lifetime.

Always is Next

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Ill met, ill starred, the sweat, the scars, the back seat of the car, caught up in the sex, the ties that bind, his thoughts, her mind, why something doesn't connect... the rush, the drool, his push, her pull, the slushy gender pool, survive and protect. Ill met, the lips, the tongues that dart apart for whatever's next. Well, now, what then, they count to ten and sense the current direct. This heat, this burn so sweet, they've learned this stuff will never turn out as they expect. Well then, what now? Again they've found what somehow still resurrects: a fit, a freeze, a pretty please, drop down upon the knees and...whatever next Whatever's next, what ever's next. A clenching fist, a wrench, a twisted kiss will salvage this wreck. The steam, the windows stream and in the back seat of the car they never suspect - out in the dark the Demiurge Avenger auto-elect.... Ill met, the gun is cocked. Though once they swore they'd be forever...always is next

The Light Continent

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All the fields that you've overflown are frozen, they flow like glass down the frame in formlessness. Only the fragile fluttering of your heart still marks you chosen, chosen to dare, your face defiant of the featureless. Your face defies the featureless, you're facing the featureless. A horizon of light blurs the boundaries of whiteness as the distance is shimmered into timeless brightness now. And the slow flooding tide is begun as it's ended - the barometer dropping and the fog descended down, down. In this endless day, at this hour long-appointed, subterranean humming and the compass unpointed, the compass disjointed, the compass down. Deep in the core the heart of ice forms, a tempo of life like that of stalagmites, a flood of the frozen, the flux of the blood aflame in antarctic white. Any marks that you made only scratched at the surface only retinal image ties you into the circuit now. In this empty expanse every shadow is shining the indifference of nature: your significance tiny now. Dive down. All the fields &c. Timeless the day, absorbing every wavelength of the light. Frozen in place, our footfall on the ice. What have our shadows meant in the light continent?

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