Monkey infinitum

o my god

i cry so much

alcohol does not help

Went for a visit westward to see the museums and galleries again.

It was nice.

Today my soul is in a dark place. 

It is dangerous in here.

Belt went loose again; needed to tighten it up a notch.  Mr Baggy-pants I am here.

If I make it home again I’ll be able to bulk back up.

…wherever she’s going I hope she makes it safely…

God awaits

in potential

in hope

We must not crush that hope

that potential

For then we forsake Him

and hope is lost.

Standing in the forest

The scrubby brush nearby nearly engulfs me, surrounds me, wants to pull me down

The arms of the trees reach upwards, always upwards

Too close, the gases choke my breath, some perfuméd, some sick with death

…

We wait

…

The doors open

much jostling, not a word

the trees move onward, outward, rushing ever rushing upwards

to make room for more

rebuilding the forest under the ground

There is hope here, and beauty as well.

There must be – I can’t believe otherwise.

I must believe better things are here.

I must.

I observe the hard-felt faces

of those pressed ’round my plight

They see nought of what I was

just that which they can take.

My dashéd hopes return with nothing

as if nought had ever been.

When was that moment

that sliver of time

that deciding breakpoint

when we, as narrator above this all,

would say

“This, my friends“

(as we would say in hushéd tone)

…was the moment it all fell down“

Floods of people

spilling over the smelly grimy greasy ground.

Gingerly stepping ’round the rubbish

left behind by fellow travellers.

How to see beauty in all this?

This path sickens me.

Yet here I must remain

a drop in the flood of men.

This pain is new;

the fire still stings my heart.

Where then shall I go?

The ones who should listen will not hear me

My grief echoes theirs; building up their dull tormént.

Hear then, mine ear, my cry, my fall –

my release, if but a while.

Scrambled egg

2 Sausage Links

2 Fried Tomato Halves

Cup of water

£2.76

Their eyes are all I see

All else, reverts to black

And then, not even then

would I peer into those holes.

My gaze averts to dirt and ground

to halt a breach of peace.

From above, a booming, thunderous crash

– the thump-thump-thump of hell

What, perchance?

Missiles, war, angry angels?

No –

’tis the ungainly strides

of the looming folk o’erhead.

My sleep – it is unwell.

For to ask of those in higher places

to tread less heavily

I fear their wrath to chase.

Nay, tonight my sleep shall break anew

Whilst above, large feet will tread.

We all can hear the train

it calls

The rails sing its approach

it calls

The crowd, it moves to see

it calls

…the train come out to feed

it calls

It cries for me to leap

it calls

O not today, o train, I say

it calls it calls it calls

An early morning journey led me down a new path.

It was new to me but not new to the erosion of time.

It was on this path that I glanced down to see the rat.

It wasn’t a particularly engaging rat; he (or she, as it may have been) appeared rather largish, but otherwise was most ordinary in rat-like respects.

The thing that jumped out at me was that this rat, unlike others I’ve heard in the walls at night, was dead.

Dead and bleached to a whitish-grey colour with time and exposure.

“Now,” I said to myself, as I was alone (with the exception of the dead, decaying rat, and one does not speak in public to such things, for fear of being labelled as a lunatic) “now why would no one clean up this rat?”

Then I looked about more closely, and saw that the rat fit in well with the decor of the rest of the neighbourhood.

It will be a long time before I pass that way again, I pray.

My Heart is gone.

• somewhere

Is it safe?  Will I find it again?

• somewhere

If my Heart makes its way back to me, will I recognise it?

• somewhere

I pray to God to Whom we pledged our Hearts would beat as One

• somewhere

…that we would be made whole again.

• somewhere