The faces, of, both, bad, and, good; have, all been; painted red.
Now, that, the world, has begun, to, be spun, in, an entrenched, deepfaked, forward-motion, tethered; backwards.
The paint, is, innocent’s; apathetic blood, mixed, with; a hue of dread.
You’ll taste; the metallic gun, and; the setting sun, in, seasoned, incensed, photographed; before, and, ever-afters.
And, in, the final, scarlet rotation, as, the splatteredgore, befouls; oceans, forests, and, old mines, the enfleshed vinyl’s, last quotation, will be, “We grovelled; to gold. So, we bored, we trowelled, we became hollowed, for; plastic, and, mankind.”
It’s better, to be, the undertrained, underdog. Than jumping; over, jinxed hurdles, through, fiery hoops, and, rings.
Or, unfounded, in a metallic maze, of untruths, and, lost, like, a lonely, bereft, missing link.
It’s better, to be, underrated, than, in-over-your-head. Under, the ever-watchful eye, of, the overseers; it’s better, to be, an underling.
It’s better to smell, with your eyes, those fragrant, delectable stars, looking up, from under, that, kitchen table, of, a midnight sky. Than, to have to clamber, over, your toileting ego, and, get over yourself, when, pretending, that your shit, doesn’t stink.
It’s better, to be, under, than, over. Just shy of greatness, yet, unpoured down the sink.
It’s better, to be, under, than, over. Better to be underappreciated, than bent-over, ignorant, mentally-dead, a zombie between the ears. Extinct.
It’s better, to be, under, than, over. Unless, you’re overcoming, the undercurrent, of those, torrential tears, of pain, that will soothe you, long after, the deluge’s sting.
And, when you’ve, finally, counted, all the missing fingers, lost, all the stacked decks, and, dealt hands. When the wind, has, all, but, gone, from your sails, when you’ve kicked, punched, head-butted, and, fought every demand. When, you’ve searched, your innerly desert, to find, that, evasive, elusive, grain of sand. When, you’ve been, knocked down, time-after-time, but, every time, you’ve gotten, back to your feet…
…that’s when; your courage, your grit, your resilience, rises up, and, the real rebel, within you, arises.
To capture, nurse, and, hold, the unfairness of it all. The rapturous, coal- heartedness, of Hellish snares, beneath, the Mall. When, afterwards, those cauldrons, spout nightly mares, of, bridled gall. The captor cursed, his embold- ened heir, is, a; hairless toupee, sheared, and, effortlessly, shorn.
The flesh, is, pierced, and, punctured, by, the blade of wickedness. A chest, buried, by, the weir -y, encumbered. Wreaths are laid, by, Triffid’s Bliss. Sounds of stress, fierce, and, repugnant, line, the glades, of, Inner Wist. As, the Rest, rely on tears, while, torn asunder, cutting their way, through, thicker mist.
The end, much like, the start, starts with, a flashing in the pan. As, the friend- ship sunk, apart, embarks, for Unhappiness, with, Sad. Send your dogged embittered bark, hearts hear no sorries, in a lost, unlistened land. And, you can’t mend a broken heart, when broken hearts is all we’ve had.
The Baku’s, outstretched, snout, rises, nightly, in the East, consuming, nightmarish novel surprises, like, a, bargain bucket, twilight feast.
The Nuckelavee crashes against Orcadian rock, vehemently, full of neighing, nostril-burning, acrid, whale-boned, salty water, drowning; joyous cheer, hopeful dreams, and, love aplenty, along with; tossing, turning sons, and, daughters.
Elephantine tusks, and, trunk, Rhinoceros-esque ears, Cow’s tail, Bear’s body, and, Tigerly, protective, compassioned paws, Baku, is, never, knowingly, unpronounced, until, the worldly children’s fears, give it, a rousing reason, to grab a meal, of unsleeping dreams, betwixt, it’s claws.
The crop-wilting, breath, of the Nuckelavee, leaves, eyes; badly harvested, as, it, tramples, at full sprint, young ambitions, thoughts, and, visions, bringing down, all, upper-trajectory, and, chasing, fear, by the scent, of, terrestrial islanders; cumbersome, teary, slumbering footprints.
All the way, from, West to East, Baku, catches whiff, of, the Nucklavee’s, despicable, despotic, demonic plan. So, Baku, cleans, it’s teeth, and, paws, with, eyes; wide, and, wildly, yellow, like, lemon pith, steels, it’s gaze, on, an aquatic equine’s, face, for, all, to see; Gods, angels, demons, all creatures, and, this man.
What happened next, was not, of, this world. They clashed, so mightily, that, they, even, made Titan’s blush. A menagerie of; horse, whale, tiger, rhino, elephant, bear and cow, unfurled, all; teeth, eyes, manes, and, limbs, ablaze. But, brilliant Baku, had, the cutting edge, on, ne’erdowell’ing, Nuckelavee, and, the Nuckelavee, was, crushed.
As, the waking world, awoke, and, sneezed, with, an Achoo!, fears passed, we were no longer afraid, the dreaming disease, had been crunched, swallowed, and, consumed, by, Baku, leaving, the Nuckelavee; ‘je suis désolé!’, and, in, it’s heart; destroyed, devoured, decayed.
So, we pledge, this day, as; Baku Day. We travel, we fight, we feast. And, we drink, good health, to the Nuckelavee, lying dead, on the ocean bed, fed-up, bested, beaten, and, drowning, it’s sorrows, in defeat.
Surrounded, by wet, sycophantic blankets, and, lettuces, that, forever, call, each, and, all, of, your names, slipping, sliding, but, set, pernicious gambits, that, play apart, whilst together, in, capricious dreams aflame.
The current, flies, and, pulls, at, your sleeves, and, collar, waves, of, ennuied electricity, from, a powerplant, of, shame, overhead, the, screeching gulls, bribed with, seafaring dollars, and, kinetosis-carried-ambiguity, in, surreptitious dreams aflame.
‘Your words, are, all that matter.’ ‘Your worth, is, the only thing at stake.’ You’re diving, headfirst through a cliché, ducking, and, dodging, a world of superstition, repeating, “things will never be the same” but, as, bursting bone, and, blood, do, splatter, and, your soul takes leave, for, it’s own, sardonic, sake, you’ll, be “glad”, you prayed, every, and, each day, as, you, set light, to, Gods, fear, and, religion, in, transcendental dreams aflame.
To win, at this, early, age, agrin, waving, embryonic banners, akin, new, on this, worldly, stage, a limb, times-ed by, October’s, gauge, minus – two, equals, twins, fresh, from a, primordial, manor…
…I wonder – double, you?
To lose, in, the middle, be, empty, a bowel, twisted, sick, dysentery, an, unheated, griddle, paucities – aplenty, a cat, with, no fiddle, under, the moon, sun, set, blue envy, a, marital link, lost, unquick…
…I wonder – ex.
To draw, be square, with, the House, of lore, a yarn, now, fully, spun, galore, experienced, by, the ounce, above the law, looking down, on, all, espoused, a chromosome’s, final – breath, of, alphabeted, awe,
and, a question, of, beginnings, and, ends, undone…
There’s a house missing, on the road, you paved, in this, bustling city, that is, my heart.
It was home, to all, our reminiscing, on the misty, cul-de-sac, I’d wave, with knees, grazed, and, gritty, as you, smiled, like an arc.
The beloved bricks, and, mortar, that held, your house, and, our familial bonds, together; are, now, used, in the future homes, of your children, and, grandchildren.
Those bricks, will be grouted, and meld, with water, from, a familial pond, forever; so, impressions, you made, on your stones, will, eternally, house your kin.
We miss you daily, and, remember, mainly, the way, you helped; shape, build, and, bring love, into, our lives.
And, sometimes, maybe, we cry, and, smile, bravely, knowing, that; we are your buildingblocks, and; in us, you, survive.
Is the pain, deserved? Or, delectable desserts? After gut-bursting meals, of, vain & swallowing, self-pity.
Does it taste, of, verve? Or, dystopian, Earth? Are tantalising screams, atop a tongue, tasting, so, so, pretty?
Do you wish, for, nerve? Steeled, mettled back, uncurved? Or, just a chance, to feel? In an unlit room, at the centre, of the city.
Or, would you, rather, serve? See war, across, the universe? The devil’s making, deals, at every, checkpoint Charlie’ing, committee.
Do you look within? Or, know, you’re without sin? At the beginning, of, the end.
Do you even, care, at all? Considering, just, how small, our impact, leaves, a dent.
If you started, over, would, your coldest shoulder, be there, to meet, plastic, family & friends?
Or would, you, always, make, those, silly, same mistakes? The ones, you could, never, comprehend.
So, I’ll ask again, is, the pain deserved? Or, delectable desserts? After, meals, of vain & swallowing, self-pity. The answer, you’ll never find, and, probably, nevermind, until, you’re called, to play, your final ditty.
poorman'sdreams 