As one did say.
As one would say.
As one should say.
It will never pass.
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Ivan
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Spoken Word
On Air
Where am I? Who put me here?
This mic is covered in spit
Eyes are rolling over each line
Ears attentively listening for an end
Mouths whispering expletives
Whenever I turn the page Continue reading
Rules
Today
I will rip and tear apart the rule book, then make my own. Fuck yeah!
Tomorrow
I will try and piece each page back together with tape and tears. Fuck…
Filling Time
Filling time with words
Filling time with sweat
Filling time with plans
Filling time with numbers
Filling time with people
Filling time with music
Filling time with boredom
Filling time with slumber
Filling time with lies
Filling time with meat
Filling time with masturbation
Filling time with boredom
Filling time with things
Filling time with building
Filling time with breaking
Filling time with pills
Filling time with breathing
Filling time with feeling
Filling time with laughter
Filling time with pasta
Filling time with Pete
Filling time with crime
Filling time with standing
Filling time with dying
Filling time with garbage
And time, it always leaks
So keep on filling
And you’ll just have to see
One Day Soon
I’ll have nothing much else to say here, or there
I’m already scraping up the bottom of my guts
And when I dig through them I’m not finding much
Just the usual bits of chewed up words dissolving downstairs
For the words which are good, you have to poke the intestines
And I’ve never been so down to find things there.
After
After digging through his brain to find the right things to say.
He didn’t realise how hard it would be to piece it all back together.
The fragments of his brain in his hands held no answers.
And so, he had nothing to say anyway.
Sci-Fi Synth Blues
No matter how much time you spend
Listening to instrumental synths,
Italians Do It Better, Disasterpiece, M83,
Painting the walls in neon,
Green, red, thick coats of moody blue,
Watching the rain from windows,
puddles forming through the night,
Cars won’t fly, robots won’t cry, holograms won’t pry
For the dystopia you crave is already here, romance free.
And those synths won’t set you free.
I know, take it from me and my Deckard coat, hanging from the door which never closes.
