Eli Jones

Overload #30

2000 Words of Poetry

 

It was murder in the town
so the man passed ’round a hat,
Smooth black suit
streamlined against
the ricochet of a million screams,
Who was it that we wanted?
Madmen or their
lovers?

We conquered
and then died upon our enemies corpses
in the bloody rush
of victory,
Always holding onto the memory of thighs
and unspeakable delights,

The reminder came in an instant,
Mechanical apparitions
crawling over
transitory traces of the unknowable,
Who could of told the difference
between Death and God in that moment?
“Not I”,
Rose the clandestine voices
of insatiable generations.

 

Standing upon the shore of the lake of nothingness,
Watching as images drift –
But how
for it is nothing?
Neither mirror
nor plain glass,
Yet still for a moment they arise
eternities unto themselves,
Laughing
and crying,
Maybe we are their lifetimes,

And now for awhile
turning away
I shudder,
We thought we had it
but now we see it slipping,
Michelangelo would be confused
Van Gogh bemused
and the ancients are forgetting
their place in time,

Everything listens in now
eager for the verdict,
The city is collapsing –
Its frame curled foetal like
in the bed of a future mind,

In the lake of nothingness we shimmer,
An explosion,
A reason to shine,
Did you see us disappear?
Was it rebirth or decline?

 

Spend a century studying a single day
the blue men inform me,

Our entire reality is fictitious,
All of our knowledge a product of our flesh,
Our senses are the storytellers,
They see according to their wants and aversions,
According to the story that serves them best,

To believe in fact
is to act on faith,
The faith that our senses
can be trusted to accurately translate,

We, their creation,
Witness our own rendering
upstream from ourselves,

Their is no now,
All we have is echoes,
The day never ends…

 

“You will remember me
won’t you?”,
the ancestors cried,
“Don’t forget
to see”,
they howled,
“The luxuries that hide”,

Whilst in our isolation we cater to the
clandestine culmination
of rogue revolutions
and still born
solutions
that defy with vehement vigilance
the distant echoes
of all those mighty nights,
As the dead twilight
of living dreams
lament all of the schemes
that have spontaneously vaporised,

Whilst between the varnished thighs
of mannequin minds
slithering beacons of mercy proclaim –

“Aha
Aha
the blood has dried,
I will trespass
trespass
and be by your side”.

 

A discrepancy of time
an accidental anomaly
yet another inordinate crime
yet another predetermined
legion of the usual swine

Hits us over the head again.

 

Bury me with the collated history of poetry
With the enormity of being condensed
With the bible of life and death
written for and by real women and real men
With the text digging erotically
into my solar plexus
defying the next world,
With the footnotes
mystery rendered explanation
across my chest unfurled,

Don’t place my hands
like a well manufactured tent
I won’t be sleeping I lament,
But instead, shape me into an embrace

just in case,

The black suit will do though,
No mans land,
The anti fashion
death of religion,
The sharp collared precision
of shadow passing through shadow
once again.

 

Selfishly selfless,
Existence focused
with excruciating anxiety
upon the mirror,
If I existed alone
I would be unseen
and the mirror heartbroken,
For it from I
no reflection of itself
would it glean,

It never quite could
get its head around
its teeth into –
Vampires,

Selflessly selfish,
Existence focused
with excruciating anxiety
upon the mirror,
For their’s both a mirror
and a map of the world
upon my colourless walls,
Within each others they find echoes of each others
meandering patterns as their awareness
of my presence is decoded and unfurled.

 

Across time sprawled out
like a blanket
over evergreen grass,
Or the darkness draped
like a curtain
in the night sky
obscuring eternity,
We dance,
Lurching left
and then turning
in upon ourselves
and rambling
with shivering momentum
to the right,
Each nuance
imbued with swift motion
An awkward necessity
designed to help us navigate
our way around
our calamitous plight,
Swift motion
A bizarre spectacle
of this life’s mating dance –
This life’s mating fight.

 

Give me your poetry
not from your mouth
on torpid
timeslot T.V,
Or from the garrulous
yet enigmatically embarrassed podium
where your soul is spent
trying to petition
the audiences irreverent attention,

But from the page
where in my drunken
symbiotic haze
I can read
and feel the truth
as if your words were scars,
Braille remnants of your reality
that I can touch and absorb,
Mopping up through my pores
your misery and mirth
with the human contact
that they deserve,
That all other modes of delivery
lack,
With the human contact
of two souls entwined and caressing
without regard to time
and the rude camera and hecklers
only alive when distracting,

Yes give me your poetry
from the page
where with a hungry mind
empathetic
in dark caves away from
the frantic and deafening din,
I can find through fingers and eyes
what it is that you intended
to be heard,
Give me your poetry
from the page
where it resides aside from
the ceaseless flood of slurred words
that rushes through this world
like one bird trying to rise
above the flock with a
louder yet emptier chirp,

Give me your poetry
from the page
where I can learn through
fingers and eyes
what it is that you
through the precarious passage
of life
have learnt.

 

Startled shades of grey
envelop me,
The obnoxious hues
of yet another frightful day
nail me to the floor,
Strange slithering memories
are strange no more,
For they are all I know,
Nor are they only memories
unless this moment is a shard
of memories past,
Like a heart in a glass jar,
Dead yet still inciting
fear from afar.

 

In the bottom of the glass
lies mystery
misery
ecstasy
and the dead azure glaze
of lively contemplation,

Call me into your chamber
and unravel the splendour
of your body,
The soft glow
of organic divinity
juxtaposed against the cruel
unrelenting
agony of human awkwardness,

Never mind
the smell of the rivers
stinking in the microwave haze
of industrial misfortune,
Collateral damage
justifies the ends,

The sweet progression of chords
strikes devil like
against the endless procession
of mannequin rebels,
Hell is loaded with heat
and eager to scorch
so watch your step
and avoid the corpse,
It’s yours,

Rage against the dream
for she’ll only drag you down,
Then wail and set sail
for lands alien to your birth
as your clownish
catatonic mirth
caresses the underbelly
of this bloated world,
Oblivious to the imminent
and ominous
onset of betrayal,

Divine your own private downfall,
Sit back
relax
and wax enthralled.

 

Whatever I do you see
but half blinded,
Whatever I say you hear
but half deaf,
Overdressed when we could be naked
and at arms length
when our limbs could be knotted
we wander woefully wayward
like two sister ships torn apart
by tumultuous seas of loss,
Tumultuous seas of loss
whose waves rise up
and then crash down upon us,
Their fury forcing our attempts
to touch to find themselves misplaced
as our fingers stroll astray,
Their fury forcing our attempts
to connect to find themselves beneath the waves
as our faces from each other turn away.

 

The desperate
rapturous
explosion
of unclothing,
The method to the
madness
one inside one
implosion,
Pull
tear
shred
unravel,
Wonder with
wide eyes
at the
succulent
fleeting
sight of
exposure,

Oh yes wonder like a spellbound
love struck camera
before the tyranny of memory,
Cumbersome
and laden with layer
after layer,
Overdressed by time
irrevocable,
Before the Alexandria like library
of love
is burnt to the ground
and reduced to the travesty of object
To the relic of your blue shirt,
Which now after the near impossible erotic moment
made for a moment possible
by nostalgic accident
is all that remains
of the monumental empire
that was us in happier days,

Oh yes I wail
your blue shirt
is now all that’s left,
Your blue shirt
mine before we first met
but then yours throughout your absence
Your flickering reintroduction of presence
and then mine once more
since you for the last time
last left,
Its shape now moulded
by the shape of your breast,
Its fibres now fragranced
by your soft skin
as it now
sleeps in my bed
cradled tearfully in my arms,
As it mine once more
pretends to be you
but is of course nothing but a relic
a memory
the hollow you
glory de-fleshed.

 

The hand of love is blessing me
as I delicately caress eternity,
Whilst she unleashes the flowing revelry
that washes euphorically over my eyes,
Leaving the sensual glaze
of pure potent ecstasy
and bliss addled skies.

 

I’ve been betrayed by the flesh
and ruined by desire,
Saddened by joy
and burnt by the fire,

But still I want more,

So I saddle my horse
and set for the sun
settling scores
whilst on the run,

Forever screaming
“HELP
S.O.S
THIS SHIP IS GOING DOWN”,
For with direction astray
today wears a frown.

 

Do lovers ever say
as they caress each others flesh,
“One day all of this beauty will turn to dust”?
Do lovers ever say
as their lustful lips conquer mountainous breasts,
“One day we’LL betray each others trust”?
Do lovers ever say
as they drown beatifically in eroticisms flood,
“One day time will tear us apart”?
Do lovers ever say
as they eagerly swallow each others lifeblood,
“One day I’LL vanquish your memory from my heart”?

 

Welcome to the universe where everything is so perverse,
Where creatures with arms and legs
run around
and then fall dead,
Born to die
as parody fools parody
at the carnival of zombies,
Where laughter is candy
the eternal ecstasy.

 

As I lay down in front of time
and observe my changing soul,
I find my mind spinning crazy webs
as I behold the notion of tales told
and futures yet to unfold,
Whilst I realise that it is I
that is the eye of my universe
as I approach walls that I must submerse
with the raging waters of flowing verse,
So as to sail on past times now gone
and move into the heart
of the ever-changing song.

 

Have come to celebrate
the pleasures of flesh,
To indulge in slices
of the spirits body
and partake of mortal breath,
To mould my hands
and minds design
around the coruscating curves
of existence,
And to lurk across the landscape
of love and lust
with feline stealth
brave and free,
Whilst feathers caress nerves
upon mesmerised peaks of glee.

 

I slashed my arm for you –
Because of you,
Is that not proof enough of my love
or do you want my wrist?

I walked to the end of my world for you –
Because of you,
Is that not proof enough of my love
or was I not even missed?

I asked you a thousand questions
all my efforts greeted by silence,
Then you have the nerve
to tell me that I don’t understand you
and then expect another kiss,

You cry in the middle of the night
so I ask if there is anything that I can do,
Then you tell me that I am ugly
and that I disgust you,

So I close my eyes in pain
hoping to find a home in the abyss,
But all that I can see are two island worlds
roaming hopelessly adrift,

I’m at the end of my tether
I really don’t know whether
I can take this abuse anymore,
Why make plans for the future
when all that you ever seem to want to hear
is the slam of the closing door?

Where did you come from
and who let you in?
You stole my soul
whilst I was sleeping,
Gregarious stranger
invisible friend
your presence spells danger
but I still fear the end,

You approached with stealth
and came in disguise
furtively crossing the moat
that leads to the gates of my soul
and then surprising the guards
with glittering gifts to behold,

But I should have known
I know that I’ve been told
that not everything that glitters
is crafted from gold.

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