original postman short story (to edit later)

ORIGINAL POSTMAN

If you travel south down the road past BROKEN-CHRIST HOSPITAL,

you will arrive at DANTE’S CAFÉ which serves:

strawberry-ice-cream-whipped-cream-waffles,

& scrambled eggs on toast with a touch of salted butter,

& meatball-carrot-mozzarella-corn-sandwiches,

& chilli-cheddar-onion sandwiches,

& decaffeinated-strawberry-banana-smoothies,

and tofu-cucumber-gouda-pasties.

Most locals know it as the only café worth revisiting

in PARAGRAPH CITY but as far as I know

that’s because it’s the most popular establishment

and the only location in RESTRALARDIN where caffeine cannot be legally consumed.

THE BUILDING SOCIETY is currently erecting

a metallic building in PARASITE CITY PARK,

but nobody has a clue as to the purpose of this building.

Locals jokingly refer to it as THE INCOMPLETE DREAM.

THE EMPRESS requested that I keep this information private,

for the time-being because SABRETOOTH

has not yet passed comment upon it,

but I am not on friendly terms with either faction

at the moment so I decided to let it go.

Me?? Sometimes I prefer smoking to drinking

and I rarely fantasise about what’s going on

in this increasingly deadening world below the ocean.

Although it feels like I haven’t been close to the coast for years,

I went to the seaside a few months ago–

and… from one soul to another: let me tell you!!–

it wouldn’t be totally inaccurate to divulge

that it was almost the most beautiful & eerie experiences

that I have ever had… but that’s a story for another time.

Although there isn’t always an amazing parrot-ox existent

within every truthful maze that reverberates everywhere,

it’s plausible there is a continuity in the subconscious soul of every being,

but these divergent prophecies confuse the motherhood of sanity,

which is the moment that might cause the growing oversoul

to overflow to the point that no triple-bluff can shrink or control

the answer adorned by this inconceivably incomplete truth.

In other news, one of my favourite species of cat

is the friendly female domesticated cat

and one of my favourite species of man

is the friendly domesticated man.

Jupiter’s assessment of earth

might have been rendered complete

billions of births ago.

Is our planet harsher than theirs??

For all you know, they hide behind a force-field

to stop the cheeky humans from observing them.

This assessment must have been commissioned

by a friendly domestic house cat butt I am reluctant to report

that ass I don’t know the ideological differences

between a friendly domesticated cat and a real cat

fervently realising individuality’s neighbourhood

trying to capitalise on me and my naïve thoughts

regarding my utter belief in a departed God.

The domesticated cat’s reliance on its owner or housemate

is something utterly unique to a specific clan of domesticated cats

whom I have respected for so long it’s hard too take the piss off.

Sure, accept this as me turning in some assignment or self-assessment.

I wonder how long we have been but a joke to the feline kingdom.

These are the sleepy sorts of thoughts that I court

to help develop a draft of an exceedingly mindful message

occasionally advocating intoxication.

Perhaps I am mistaken to assume that is the truth in its totality:

everyone needs their rest.

People value their own needs

by harsh or hopeful self-assass-men.

How could you pretend to not know what I’m talking about??

The phony crazy resented unrepentant greed or infamy,

and though the lazy slowly handed rotten garlands to me,

deeply heated therapy misread opportunities in the red sea,

as happenstance eradicated the dancer’s deadened plea.

The hatter speedily ecstatically declaimed all freedom free,

but then I forgot the regret harboured within all the empty.

When the highly-strung misunderstood me small,

then the highly-young misunderstood me tall,

but they either knew not me or the truth of it all 

as the misty bliss kissed the transmission’s wall.

My advice to myself? Cease studying until you are separated from the text.

BEFORE FOREST BECOMES ZOO

Lunar compounds soon surrounded the tunes of new men,

consuming towns of prose detailing our walk back to them,

frail impossibility chosen by the sleepless rose yet again,

shots forged by the newly forgotten two who grew ten.

When your heart department hospitalised art-attack zen,

forget that greedy heads lead wars the weedy condemn,

but pencil dreams on the hill sent the dreams of mayhem,

and I still love yesterday now in the same way I did then.

Though slow growth was the oath of the slack showmen,

unseen herds of birds sending both back to slow no gem.

But what of shot saviours & razors who first begot them?

Forever leaks dreams down the drain to free the hot den.

The incredibly blurred infinity to which these inedible words came,

once more backed the trite awe to restore the art-attack game,

but the rain-dance restored the surety of happenstantial blame,

borne to requite war or the brain-chains the sane blamed tame,

warning more sheltered hearts that spelt the heart all the same,

leaving the absurd to sell the melted words that wrote my brain.

Levelled computers and looters grew fruity teeth,

confusing useless mutiny with the muse of relief,

amusing the completionist feat of bruised beef,

resplendent heat sweetening the defeatist chief.

Though a stoned unknown owed the lonely a bliss-home,

it was because of the abyss that they tripped to this zone.

Because your authorial fission warred the tour-division of the one act happening,

more fought against wars and blessed the courted thought of a vision shambling,

but as the boss of slow crossed himself to make a loss of the coin-toss grappling,

then the difference you knew to know lost subsequently cost the balancing,

grappling with the frosty moss of costly clues and the blue moon's blackening,

but the reactionary sides forgot not the peopled trees they knew maddening,

refined factions of skies reminding my eyes that inaction relax free travelling,

though the surprise shined like eyes to compartmentalise hyperbole slackening.

You dismantled the obsolete tune planted deep within the one & the thunder anew,

wandering within a beginning granted to you obsolete and to repeat the day true.

Your eyes revived ships & crackling tips whose gambling slipped into rambling too;

I slipped into sleepless extremes to dream of the bliss that let forgetful me meet you.

Though the unknown owed me a stoned blissed zone,

don’t miss the abyss on this slow lonely tryst home!

Whenever Forever’s differential simplicity dwelt in shelters you used to cook,

grave-meaning saved individuality’s cave eyed inside the bride of the brook,

beginnings hidden within surprises forbidding rising truths smitten nooks,

as if taught by the rain where you fruitfully complained about beauty's books,

or wrought difference learning men cooked into burning thought by hooks...

the bold taught cold thought and brought images near:

if you fear her judgement, then hold your grudge dear...

There's masculine mystique that some women steer,

surviving the sweet nudge that defeated touch's tear!

I was lost to the herd like the seen forestation of elaboration,

duly freaked by a scandal clean of that dreaming imagination,

but I was corrupted by the thoughts that bought more frustration,

mindlessness entering into me to remind me to be kind and true,

perplexed by extra-time that resigned me to the confines they knew.

The clever dandelion thought that he was freed of needy forevers,

so they feed her herculean lines that superseded all weedy tethers,

needy-wine-song feeding the speedy-fine-wrong to seedy weathers,

thinking sounds drinking coffee-rounds to pleadingly sever whatever,

but you embossed the lost coin toss to shot seeds of being together,

cost by the frosty losses of the bosses’oddly libidinous treasure.

Though the unknown owed me this bliss stoned,

it wasn’t a lonely trip to the kiss that you loaned,

so forgive the living heart’s growing attuned,

due to the true baloney of every poet mooned…

… so her scarlet slow fingernails slowly grow to know high heart,

hopeful embraces chasing avenues misplaced by her sky art,

so the homegrown mountain petals know why I play my part

for your wars fought the saviour erased by the day’s sly smart.

Halfway to twenty-seven, there’s a gate and a door.

You breathe a little breath and wonder why even more.

A committal death could let you forget all your war.

But halfway to empty heaven, your soul starts to soar.

On level where I revel, happiness does not come cheap.

You keep all you’re meant to in a transcendent leap.

You feel so blue or so happy you could almost weep.

On level where I revel, the ghosts wake up from sleep.

Halfway to Devon, I forgot everyone’s name.

I realised that we are not all fun and the same.

I finally knew for true what my wonder became.

Halfway to Devon, I learned that life is no game.

Halfway to heaven, you realise hell couldn’t be a kiss.

Halfway to heaven, you shan’t feel any specific bliss.

Halfway to heaven, you can’t afford deals with the abyss.

Halfway thru that night, old feeling warred this tryst.

Her dead-line led mine here to dread the fed rhyme,

but your heart nearly resigned in time to wed mine,

reminding mankind of the deadening rhyme’s rewind.

I don’t know if I lost faith in the cost of dynasty right there,

but the recent revelations show that the boss might care,

an early graceless prayer there by the grave nightmare,

as if to save every relevant word to requite right there

though amen was the only real word to requite prayer.

Me? I wasn’t looking to cook something terribly specific,

water buffering daughtered mares only to feel critically hit,

daring to drive the epiphanies who superpowered it,

admitting that the truth towered over problems like this.