in a time of turgid sheen...

If you loved me you’d let me live in peace.
You love giving, the giving of grief.
I deny I’m like you but I know that I am.
I feel I’ll never act a man.

I’m thirsty for real nights.
Nights we can come to grips.
Nights we can understand, just for a second.
Seconds we can feel full,
full of the knowledge and knowing the known.
Knowing full-well that that knowledge will never last,
yet hoping that it might.
I rose from a dream, a dream of hoping that it would.

She’s and screens flicker, blur and bend.
Words rattle under the tepid towel.
I need your sense of stability.
I hate your phantom senility.
To name all your sheets you need me alive.
To frame all your thoughts you need me to die.

The loveliest lords love like nothing.
The loneliest lads lie in hard rain.
Picking pills from the pocket going fucking insane.
Wandering the city streets leaves us laying back to back.

Forming our tale in a time of turgid sheen.
We look more and find less than people past.
Simple times call for simple measures.
Complex times call for simple pleasures.
I think that I know, I know that I don’t.
Give her a tour, she’ll find it alright.

Blue blankets of apathy wrap up my mornings.
If you’re dying to be lead, you’re dying to be dead.
Hiding from the sun, hiding from no-one.
Obsessive introspection can’t become the norm.
Laying around feeling sorry and sinful won’t help anyone.
Nearly everyone else has it worse.
Wake up from yourself, wake from the troubled slumber.

Let’s pause and find our own inventions.
Find things of us, things of them.
Things of his and hers and theirs.
Stop staring at the banal and start staring at each other.

Remember when our oldest friend left us here to rot?
The phone won’t ring and loving won’t come.
Not from there, not from them.
Although we find and figure and find, they won’t be found.
Not now, not again, not ever.
To pre-empt December stains lay the blanket over the bowl.
The four-armed hat stand stares blankly at the hole.

Quantifiable evidence amounts to qualitative cock.
There’s plenty of time to know nothing and to love every minute.
There’s plenty of love in the minute corner of the clock.
Breaking off the minute hand,
making the most of the moment.

Throw caution to your mother, throw your mother to the wind.
She will find you one day, bigger and better than her door.
You will leave her and pray, smaller and meeker than before.
But strength will find you one day, strength will make you more.

A stronger sense of the sane hides somewhere in the future.
Stop with the searching and go with the flow.
The river of life ain’t as cloudy as it seems.
In the clearest of waters you’ll discover the dreams.