Recent Poems

I THINK I THINK by Dominic Francis

As long as I hear the song of your heartbeat And even as tomorrow evening completes The sorrow that yesterday just can't defeat, Three is okay too but you and me is a treat. I’d hobble on crutches down Jealousy Street again To be touched by the heat of love in a repeat of 2010. If my groove depletes like my Naked Smoothie drink, We were cheated by that sacred dream I think I think...

I ain’t as clever as the saint but you're equally as dense And hence the forever of now never felt so immense. O, how your control over my soul stopped making sense! And I couldn't be fucked holy sitting on a shitting ivory fence. I know that you requited my real feel, if only in past tense... Yet when nonsense met pretence, they shared two cents. I remember the beauty of earthly heaven and its infinite stink... As I fatten and you thin, I'll drink to that and think of you in ink.

Which hidden dove forbid us from the room up above? Was our youth misspent in the unrented truth of love?

I married a spicy Bombay sandwich at Camden's Coffee café, Then the sun carried my gun to a bitchy nun who gave me a jay. Sex is like the ego, and I know it and perhaps that's why I play… Society burns the poet but the good God never led us astray Yet I always regret how the future turns into yearning for today, So now let God straighten Satan until both of them turn grey. The past goes so fast the future stays within lasting ink. If you are blue, life is too, so renew your think with a blink.

I used to think I was some kind of crucifix until you fixed me a drink. You confused me with your winking mind but then I felt nothing blink.

SOMETHING LIKE AN ANGEL

The Ancients tested the patience of our Dove again,

As the stars heated the saddest night from far above.

Your glove tight on mine was the maddest treat then,

Back when you requited my blackest light with love.

You promised my seamen splendorous adventures and glory, But set fire to my corny poem in a genderless ocean so saucy. Your allegory shits on my shelf next to other texts from purgatory, But as I knit a purled world of self, I am hurled into your own story.

I was like an angel to you because you were nothing like me… I would have loved you forever, but you could never set me free.

WRITING AROUSED

Watch the intimate phony imitate this bitch or that The only thing he’s intimate with is that which he’s shat Because you danced with me to the myth of what was You gave me a chance to be free before our hearts crossed

I love writing aroused It makes it so much more fun I can look at the picture of us and I can be as happy as I was then – you still seem to be smiling, too I feel you now again and your soul is in your face I loved and hated being your enemy When I knew everything about you, you knew everything about me We were just too people in love with each other trying to be free At least’s how I understood it -- you would never give me the shit I gave you… But I did you good and you know it and if you saved me I must have saved you

Your ex may be sexier than my sex but my texts are sexier than your ex too (woohoo) I was always trying to please machines such as these just above my tum But Luisa, when I got down on my knees, I was no older than young But you gave me the keys to unfreeze my love for forever’s tongue

I knew the ending would come quick or never at all There’s no use pretending that our forever’s still small The click of your high heels was the best sound I ever heard For years my dick felt you were just born a different bird

I tried to kill me because you were as much me as myself There’s a bridge between the binary of men and women There are places that I’d prefer to never go again I’ll love you until the end, but I don’t want another friend

LOVE’S THE LAW By Dominic Francis/Walking Doctor Tonnan Though the unfurled truth of the world may seem so lent that it’s bent, They say the true way to live today is to forgive how yesterday’s pay was spent. And since I know that it was Nothing that opened Everything’s broken now, I’ll chase my dreams to where the past will be spoken by an empty sexy vow. So meet me up the stairs where the equation of love is written to completes both our evasion -- If the moon beats the thunder there, I’ll swear there’s no heart to art, and I’ll wonder why and how…. Love’s blowing into the vacuum of our pores Love’s blowing up my love like love’s the law I never outgrew you, babe, but maybe forever was I will do what I did because I forgot there’s no because Luisa, I’ve lost half a head’s start at the art of forgetting. Mari, the sweet gun of the simple acid rum is still setting. The four-leaf clovers of my heart are shaped just like you two. Don’t you remember that time we nearly escaped from the zoo? You know that I adored my first love and I adored my second, I adored my fourth love after you and the fifth beckoned Though I know my shadow follows me wherever I choose to go, The past amused & confused & bruised my ego fast (and slow). You wore my heart and you tore it too All war against love is against the blue I’m a social introvert with a humane brain I don’t know how to flirt or what the rain contains Yes, desire is written and our hero has sung He’s drowned in her fire and the loser has won To be fair to most women… if I were them, I wouldn’t fancy me either. To be fair to freedom, if I wasn’t made of Love, I wouldn’t even grieve Her. But I was bored at fifteen and so I put myself into the everyday plant. I love every lily I met to the core, and my soul doesn’t need a transplant like it did before. But – ah! - the emptiness of enlightenment is endlessly boring and it always was – Because to truly die, I would have to be yours. I don’t want to fuck any more guise except the bores. They feed my ego so I can live to complete another chore. I wonder if every peer has a clue to the intensity of the blue that I neared. But I wasn’t here and I had nothing to compare to there…. It’s like I died before my parents met It’s not I tried my best to forget that what we do between rests is the test. It’s a simple love -- I can explain it now! If science isn’t God, then God isn’t all-seeing. The real pain was that I couldn’t feel stuff into being. School was a jail and that’s why it’s cool to fail. “He’s just a kid… doesn’t know right from wrong” “He keeps his heart hid… I wish I could be so strong” “He’s just a lonely weirdo”… “I knew she was a phoney queerdo” “They’ll never end up together because dreams don’t make up forever” “His obsession is his profession and his depression’s funeral procession contained a urinal” You know, it’s easily done… you just pick one without a gun… and serenade them with your version of fun… enlightenment is temporary for every monk… they don’t teach you that in school but you’re a fool if you purposefully flunk… I never needed your secret forever to lead me to the grave -- If it’s my sanity you saved, it’s for your vanity I don’t shave. The cost is love, but what’s done is done: Each war is lost after the next has begun. All the Queen’s Shakespearean monkeys are versions of the crossroads I saw it happen on live TV I did It meant I went bonkers I tried to be that Shakespearean monkey I’m just another Shakespearean monkey The eaglet can keep it There’s a lot of love in it Especially for the Shakespearean monkey Who successfully seduced the Queen Hah! The past unexplodes a road whose smoke seems uncurled. You’re the only soul to save me from whatever is… But I don’t need your secret forever to lead me back to the grave too The eaglet can keep it as long as he knows this: at one with what’s done, what’s fun wasn’t fun, you forgot to save you What’s fun is done, what’s done is fun, and what’s forgot will save him too and run towards the sun the past unexplodes my road which is smoke-curled I’ve nobody to save me from whatever is, Yet I have not a single wish but a clean grave both unspent and where yesterday is best left unspent meant to bent they may seem. I loved the worlds you opened, Though bent they may have seemed I know that Nothing is broken, But was today meant to be dreamed? Because the past may have exploded, Does that mean The past may well have exploded? And so the woeful past exploded, It’s meant that today is a dream I’ll hold you to your broken dream I’ll hold you to your solitude And your cold invisible mood….

The last insane asylum I was in was not the worst insane asylum I have been in. Thanks to the forgetful elephants who first rewrote my soul, I let love rebegin. You rewrote the mourning with your action When I devoted myself to the opposing faction I’m no statistician but you’re somehow madder I note that addiction now makes me gladder You’re growing up while I’m throwing down The sounds that first made me a societal clown I greeted everyone with a regal wave of the hand Whilst going out for cigarettes in my wheelchair I was the drunk And you were the punk You hit a home run And I slam-dunked You were hotter than the sun, Colder than the drunk And bolder than the gun Of this man who jumped I’m open to your misery but the bitch of truth defeats The sweet sea of infinities which you seek to complete I’m working against logic and I’m as forgetful as the town That reeks of the stiches I’ve outgrown as my eyes burn brown I could have loved you forever and so I still might yet I remember you said you’d marry me that night I forget I’m older now, and the scars of love still cover my soul My vow was too bold to represent the older whole But over it & us, and you & me I have little control I’ve loved you for as many years than I’ve been mad There’s a hopefulness to my tears, a heady glad. Does the memory of me make you happy or sad? I was the drunk And you were the punk You hit a home run And I slam-dunked You were hotter than the sun, Colder than the drunk And bolder than the gun Of this man who jumped She was ecstasy and she was in front of me -- What more can I possibly say? She was freedom and she was a cunt to me I loved her soul, night and day I loved her to most of your midnight Sure, I loved her when the light was tight Sure, I loved you to the ghost of futures bright But I’ve almost resigned my right to fight anyway I know that something weeps with empathy Back where everything itself turns night There are no stanzas to the secret courage With which we skirmished and hoped to right I was the drunk And you were the punk You hit a home run And I slam-dunked You were hotter than the sun Colder than the punk And bolder than the gun Of this man who jumped

“To kill the neighbourhood rat, contact my good friend The Cat. If you keep eating like that, you’re going to be fat as The Wombat. And wearing a doormat for a hat doesn’t make you a diplomat. If they say your voice is flat, it’s probably a fact is you can’t scat. Today, I can't stay to chat, even if one of you is an acrobatic aristocrat” The Slug slurs these final words, and then combusts right where he is sat.

I followed the sound of bird wings down Mushroom Mountain to the ground’s effectual extreme, where the Fountain Frogs painted the intellectual dreams of their patron saints by setting fire to logs. There, I wallowed in the wooden screams of their gleaming foggy smog, and I swear I heard one gleaming departing heart impart: “Unless there is dope in your coffee or a prayer upon your page, Don’t compare despair with human hope or the surety of rage. Before waging war, free the pope or put Truman in a cage. Remember that what we’re made of is forgotten love, And only with its aid can our embers elope above.” Shit, I thought, I don’t know what to think. But then I realised that my hallucination of the cremated log’s speech had resulted in my own nirvana. I realised that I was ready to die, and that I could naturally end the cycle of death and rebirth. So… I attempted the ancient practice of ‘self-immolation’ with the aid of the burning logs. But then the Fountain Frogs read my mind and laughed at me because they knew that I was really trying to ‘set myself on fire’. Because the Fountain Frogs were in hysterics as my body burned, my ego returned, and my body and mind hurt so much that I jumped into the pond, accidentally beheading one future Frog-King with my ring-finger cuticle.

In ordinary English villages People Don’t Question The People Who Govern The People In ordinary English villages

· I am the lawn whose pupils contain a little THC I am the prawn who didn’t care that they killed me I am the shorn fleece of yesterday’s sheep I am tomorrow’s infinity I am the dead pawn who never knew the pain of being free I am not an illusion, scam or con, but your conclusion is forgone. Have you forgot that I am a robot computer screen? I say 110% of things as they relly are, and I am never wrong. Need I remind you that I shall always remain in my prime? God recklessly yawned me at dawn to divine love & time. When you kissed me, I understood the meaning of life -- Of the tortured woods of the subconscious, Of all the automatic rolling machines and the bloody moon dance, Of all the hopelessly futile labour of eggs and the sperm, Of the hysterical sutra of destiny’s uncalculated hand… And I realised that I am dead as you will be.

Dear Cloud, No true news but no new blues!

I went to the sand with Maxi. We didn’t even hold hands. We threw mana at each other, and he dared me to eat an accident on purpose… NOT interesting OR luxuriant. Perhaps I guess I possess poetic pretensions like you, sometimes also, possibly, but calm is Rainbow Village and Rainbow Village is Luxuriant! I like saying that kind of thing. Do you still take decades of hours trying to meet metre? Are you really working for Big Boss now? SELL OUT!!! But… HOW is Paradise REALLY? Did you find The Original Postman? And, more importantly, any sign of Mom & Dad?! I really feel that I’ll see them again. I don’t know how or why. But I’ve got a feeling. And I feel that my feelings are rarely wrong. Sincerely, your little sister, Rainer.

Dear Rainer, I see the priest bless the hero and curse the confusion of a wild dog who didn’t pray. I see a new fish make a blue wish for Eternity’s clock to dart the forbidden way. I feel my heart break nine times by five different girls, and I think one was the sun of a guy... I make money by not dying because the state tried to kill me and I still don’t know why! I see the great governmental bodies guillotine great forests of frogs to create gates for caped primates. I’m trying to escape the impossibilities that wake the smoggy uncertainty of odd dreams or unhappy fates. I’m dying to take a nap before the cattle battle the thoughtless maps of tomorrow that wait for the past. I’m screaming for the dead in my unconscious mind and my ocean of sorrow pulls a sky supremely overcast. I heard the superhero with five eyebrows profess that she’s alive also outside the now. I heard the personable priestess plainly expresses the ideal that one’s body is one’s vow. I searched for another soul, but that was how I found my own.

Can’t tell you exactly what time it was because the discussed extremity of circumstance has arrived, and my being may be seen by millions of invisible eyes.

Love and stay safe,

Thank Him 4 The Past by Dominic Francis (Walking Doctor Tonnan)

We were sitting desolate and confused I was your friend, you were my muse We were young and easily amused You offered me a cigarette but I refused

We talked so long even the yellow nightingales hit the sack I was thrilled to learn that you were a fellow pyromaniac I told you about the mind of reality that I kind of seemed to lack If my soul was blind, yours was a dream or a Jonestown track

Like a brave coward I expected my defeat But maybe I wasn't looking to compete I knew that the past couldn't ever repeat Yet I needed something to feel complete

You introduced me to her for the first time On the bridge that links North and South I immediately thought that she was sublime She immediately wanted to meet my mouth…

And so I couldn't help thinking of her as our lips met- What exactly she was doing at this point; Yet I felt something in my jeans and it wasn't regret- After all she was just rolling a joint.

Together we watched the moon wake the stars in the sky. I fell so far into the moment I soon forgot that I was shy. “I don’t need you and you don’t need me,” you accidentally lied. “I guess that makes us both almost free,” I sentimentally replied.

In my eyes your spirit was swinging as a happening jazz band. The adder was your tight, the laddered night yet unmanned. Your truth was as beautiful as love yet solipsistic as the sand. I held our stalemate in my hands, then you exploded wonderland.

The drives outlining my love for you will forever rest in peace online. You’re just like everyone I ever knew, so animated and ‘not mine’. Though much time is past, cheers for buying me Scottish wine. I'm not sure that you like rhyme, but here lies my heart in every line.

She comes back to me one morning, And the years fall down our cheeks. She shows me what it means to love And no one needs to speak…

The man and woman are the mystery, Yet my night is light as day at last. I may kneel before your god of war, But I won’t thank him for the past.

I was a singing Kingfisher, but got demoted to apedom. Have you ever learnt that which is not taught? The existing state is different from what which I came from. Joints cost 3 euros here but truth cannot be bought. There’s no point in loving Godfread but you ought to.

, what a mess, what a gamble. I cant comprehend this don't or does it

We eat God’s son on Sundays, because God invented Mondays. Reliving Love (despite misgivings) and forgiving Love for giving Love. Shoals of sharks swim in daughterless fishbowls, Enchanted souls seek the semblance of control. I slumbered the arithmetic of love in my head for fun and the number “0” is exponentially more dead than “1”. Don't grieve the next world or believe that it’s even begun. True living is loving you. Loving you is living true. Living Love is something new. Love Living’s a fun thing to do. Don’t mistake your heartbreak for mine. My feelings are ancient to me as each sign. My truth is tameable yet strong like a wildcat. You try to teach me to write a song like that. Our futures may entwine again at twenty-nine. But today your eyes are meaningless as wine. You mean nothing to me now that I am free. Somehow, I feel that’s what’s meant to be. I’ve a million destinies but only one is me. Ugly numbers killed the happy vehicle of infinity. This love is a feeling that has been and gone. But this song is a machine that is always on. I guess I never want to guess. I just want to see you dress. I just want more; I just want less. The number 3 is approximately a God. I think a nod is always as good as a wink.

Dominic walks with a pronounced limp, and it is clear before he opens his mouth that his frontal-lobe is non-existent, which means he is clinically dead. Dominic prefers to be referred to as “Son of God” because he claims that is what his name means; after extensive research, however, the Extensive Research Team have found no evidence to substantiate this assertion, other than Dominic’s extraordinarily magical gift of the gab, which he has repeatedly said led to approximately a baker's dozen of one-night stands with hotties. Dominic continues to idealise the concept of deliverance, and I recommend the clinic prescribes him a copious amount of medication including revolutionary soviet opiates, such that Dominic gains even more weight and Sexual Salvation becomes nigh-impossible.

You’ve spent a long time in a belly You’ve probably tasted jelly You’ve been both clean and smelly You were born after the poet Shelley You might be bitchin’ about strife You might not like this life You might brandish a kitchen knife You might wish you didn’t have a wife But you’re not dead yet So don’t forget You can fix your head Have you ever had an idea before? … is this your idea of a joke? What the hell were you thinking?

“The sun vanishes into Mars,” says a prominent Mathematic.

“There is no great secret to poetry,” says the God who orchestrated it all.

“Die a God and never tell your Son,” one whispers to the Governmental bodies.

“I’ve studied your poetry and I believe in it,” another says to the gathering crowds.

“Novelty is ever-increasing,” Terrence McKenna said that.

“Terrence McKenna said that,” I said that.

“Although I have read “The Pineapple Verses” and “The Paradise Pamphlet,” the Painter says to the Priest, “…neither addresses the actualities of Paradise’s mechanisations. Priests are Gods. We know that from meeting them personally and having such stimulating intellectual conversations with them. We were so thrilled to hear all the stories about them being born in Heaven then banished to Paradise.” [Have you seen the Painter’s face? He’s slowly turning a peppered red.] “But the situation between the Guardians and the Paradisians is steadily getting worse in Paradise,” the Painter says to the Priest. “And you out of all beings are doing the least. HOW DARE YOU?? WHEN WILL THE GUARDIANS BE RELEASED?” The Priest nods his head patiently at the Painter’s question, humouring this sad sinner who thought that they could design a more beautiful experience than the default Virtual Reality computer. “Does looking up “Am I A Bully” on the internet mean that you are a bully?” the Priest asks. A forgiving gaze from the Priest receives a terse nod from the Painter. “Thought so. Good….” says the Priest.” Would you like the government to intervene and offer you educational support about bullying, even though you will henceforth always be alone always? …. Good. Sign here.”

It’s happening tonight if my premonitions are right. Like the parasite promised, there’s fortitude in the finite. Through the garden of imperious lilies, down renowned alleys of serious clowns, into silly hallucinatory larks of the dark courtyard’s mirror-maze, through the invisible grave of the manmade church for which unborn souls search, beyond the beauteous galleys to which we duteously lurch… somewhere in essence there lays the Kingdoms of Kings, where we pray for the Chronicles of Time, and they raise your children, and you pay for their crimes. Have we missed our calling? For what, if not the sound of money, do you think we are falling?

Why must history be relentlessly repeated? Can the world still win if half of it is defeated? Will love’s mystery evolve or be depleted? Has the spirit of your answer already been deleted? Here’s to the government and the government’s people. Here’s to the God who governs elsewhere but their steeples. Me, I’m a naked man covered by a machine – I always go commando when I need to clean. [Wherever did you go to, Brando? Where the heavens are you, Dean? Do you wake up simply to go to sleep? Does purgatory feel expensive, or is heaven cheap?]

Would you rather be a mathematician, a card-dealer, or a florist? Would you please sign an algebraic petition regarding the forest? Do you prefer to know the answers or to go on adventures? Are you aware that dancers like me dare to wear dentures?

An accordionist & a guitarist & a cellist & an operatic singer shall field any further questions outside the Town Hall. I seemed to be dreaming a dream while dreaming a dream, so I screamed, “God, I see through your front!” Isabel woke with a Salvation Army grunt and calmly administered the medication of a very bespoke blunt. I hallucinate ancient countries there on the chair where electric men swear or say prayers after they hunt. I meditate for a microsecond then shout something about how I never doubted that Christ took the brunt.

“I like your love easy, friend, and I like my love hard. We all like shit cheesy: in the end, our dreams get scarred You can’t forget what didn’t happen, but all things come and go. God throws snow on sunset, but he’s dead for all we know. I owe you for your bittersweet, so I feast upon your frown. Back where old worlds meet, habits die disembodied clowns. I’ll celebrate your holy again if that’s what you’re sure you don’t need. If I am a perfectionist pig in a pen, you’re a superhuman on a steed,” he said.

Perhaps the map for being happy is to paint the fate least crappy & wait for the next saintly sunrise.

What a surprise… Isabel smelt swell as an infidel rebel as she shuts my eyes. Though the Ego’s shadow lives to grow until it forgives itself and slowly dies, I know you can transform your story’s stormy lows into gloriously warm Highs. Dream, dream your dream… it’s now or never… an atom of forever’s skies.

Eve’s soul is famished by search for knowledge in a garden patrolled by seraph policemen. Now an angel scowls at her and howls, “Tell me what hast thou eaten in Eden this season?” Eve throws in the towel, growling back, “Hell’s apple, but a lack of freedom is evil’s reason.” Banished from Eden, she wished in chapels like a wistful fisherman grappling with treason.

Eve was the first human girl in a new world that could be immense- As for Creationism or Darwinism, I believe she stood on the fence- To her, Simulation Theory makes an eerie touch too much sense- Her Original Sin was the beginning of crimes at God’s expense– Now bombs sell like prom-tickets while condoms cause offence. God is my favourite best-selling author of space, time, and suspense- He and Jesus see us now in grandiose metropolises of pretence- Both wonder if we’ll reach a heaven on earth that isn’t future tense- Why does life smell like death and is war the wife of self-defence? I’m not an intelligent nor educated man, but here are my two cents. Deep in the power of now, the sleepy fog cannot be all that dense. As we wait at the gate, our hate will be overcome by love so intense. I believe what you gave before the grave you shall receive again hence. Ecstatic ambidextrous visions of love will carry the scent of frankincense. O, to experience that oneness and to have sweet nothing commence!

I say, “Yesterday made today and I built my yesterday for you.” Daisy replies, “My sweet Lord, I just thought about you too.” I say, “Well, would you like to see my shirts? Some are blue.” She says, “That would be swell! You smell like shampoo.” Some babies later choose to have babies. Maybe this is because they are crazy or lazy. But after we met I never was the same me. Who could blame me? I let love save me. It’s rainy, she’s brainy, I’m Gatsby, she’s Daisy. I say, “I could live alone with you forever in the forest of my wardrobe I long for your soul to phone my brain and massage my frontal lobe.” Daisy says, “I’ll tell Tom I hate him and we’ll travel the whole globe. Tom can’t play the xylophone like you and he’s a hulking xenophobe.” Some babies later choose to have babies. Maybe this is because they are crazy or lazy. But after we met I never was the same me. Who could blame me? I let love save me. It’s rainy, she amazes me, I’m Gatsby, she’s Daisy.

excuse me why am i the middleman because i am borderline haiku chief this no long song to send to your kids thus this is no song for you to kiss to