Pacing Still

Confounded course of existence
forced on body ever upright, persistent
Resistant to joy and peace
Just a toy, a priest with no ploy to remake holy writ
Wake daily, swallow grit, hit pipes aplenty

Twenty long gone
Thirty moved on from the sound of a gong
Rattle of two-pronged lungs
longing to prove wrong on-going in out breath

Closer, closer comes spectre named rest

Tired of one foot then the other
Fired oven solidifies earthenware lover
Promise forgiveness, then fall for cover in a mother’s embrace
No other carapace can brace the coldness of space
No trace of heart to face yet another day

I turn away from surplus efforts

Looking, breathing
Shoving and heaving boulder up that hill again
Pill and pain maintain upright form
with no gain, no purpose
Point blame at circus

Merry-making curse pushes brain to brink
Too tired to think
Thoughts too fast to drown in drink

She winks across the border
between me now and me then
Back when living had an aim
Now a name given to hammers
of shame and blame
that drive nails into feet and hands
of lame leper

Temperate step for he who crept up to surprise himself
No wisdom, no wealth, ill health
Just self and fading horizon
Cries once daily for one failed by conclusion arrived upon

He sails on
Aware that severance of one is severance of all
She is gone and they all fall
Stone wall surrounds new pariah
Dumbfounded blue messiah sighing at the way we amount to nothing

Confounded shuffling feet meet empty streets
where once were friends
Still, everything ends
So fuck the group blended by trends and a penchant
for sending boat-rocking, door-knocking, truth-seeking journeymen
to suffer in silence

Damaged by dogma, married to violence
His defiance, monomaniacal reliance on focus towards the end
Pretending all is not lost

No greater cost can be paid
than that which is made of ultimate truth
Fatalistic proof that aloof pride will simply never do
Having discarded the only thing that was ever true
Only thing that would ever do
anything through love for me

Parasitic worms have taken turns to suck dry all I ever had
And I am glad
For when noose finally tightens
Skin whitens
Eyes shine brighter than flight of a thousand doves
Blood becomes something other than sacrament from above
And one true love fades into nothing more
than a portrait in a dusty room

He grasps tightly the broom
and assumes Tyburn pose that blooms
beneath beautiful new moon
Covering carcass in something that should always have been

Seen from afar, neck leans ajar from collar bone
Hangs above only throne known to lone ranger
No stranger to arranged defects
Strung-out, strung-up prefect corrects imbalance of nature
Accident by Burgess creator who waits for it to happen again, again, again
Timed by blood dripping to broken, bastard beats

Feet meet streets again
How many times will I try to maintain
grasp on reigns of horse long since bolted?
Vessel the same, contents altered
None can see
None will know
Screaming we arrive
Silently we go

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