Hartebeest and Lobster

Ahh …                      Here I am!                              — again?

                    no remedy, no reason,

Inverting the nesting doll to                    a gesture of torture

   For     the praise                                  of my ignorance

Neither known          or                  rehearsed by native espionage

Receding modernity,    acutely privatising    filthy decay.


You can tell soldiers         disguised      as colourblind chesspieces

Try to catch their dream                        as they blunder through clouds

(  They’ll move without you,                              anyway…)

Afflicting whom ever cared                    to the professionalism

Of the final judgement,                           knighting amnesia unto battlefields.


Seeking something new     while           chaining themselves

                                                                To smoked-out superiors —

The abundance of life is always ignored, —

                                                               Observing the faith of absurdity,

                                                               Orangutans clot their own blood…


The mad child                   dancing          on ruby and asphalt,

Holds a wrinkled beam to                        the sky,

  (What no other soul bares!…),


The reels never stop rolling,                    memories dissolve

And all that remains is                            the will for everything,

A signal of         nowhere                         repeating itself,

A portrait of       some                              forgotten cross-eyed lord.




— Fuck Neologisms, the Curtsey of Existence! The Old Battle cry!

The symbols anybody else would gauge their soul over!

Everything I say is met with the hatred of what I expect,

The Plateau cradles the land I carve words from,

The Plateau itself remains still as it shakes; —


And the echo                 of thought                  resounds…


Ahh …                  Here I am!           — again?

                       no remedy, no reason,

The mad child                      dancing               on ruby and asphalt…


  • Aislinn Wilson

    This is so very vivd, and absolutely mad, maybe even surreal, and I have to say I'm absolutely in love with it. This feels like a charge without direction, and nearly has a physical force about it. I would love to see an author's comment, but I respect your choice to give none.

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.