Your Fourth World Feds Fed The Fourth Wall
1. Walkin’ Talkin’ Storm Vet
You can tell by the way he strolls in that he’s a man with a soul in his pants.
He walks up to the world with a wholesome grin and her girlfriends scatter like ants.
I guess profession is his depression because he hasn’t worked a day in his life.
He just loses himself in animal expression, and wastes time wishing he had a wife.
Well, I never thought you’d fall for him when you could have the cream of the crop.
I suppose in some clothes he looks slim, though I heard that his daddy is a crooked cop.
I guess I bless your right to make a mistake, but if it were me anyhow I’d leave in a breath.
Apparently he took you down by the lake, spouting about how cherishing ‘now’ is death.
I don’t feel well but jealous isn’t the word: I feel as emasculated as if I’ve lost my dick.
The idea of happiness seems so absurd like a feather that’s heavier than a brick.
I used to think you were my only muse, but now you belong in this stupid thong.
You gave me blues silence can’t diffuse, so somehow your gong got me all wrong.
2. Talkin’ Trying To Figuring It All Out #29
Everybody’s texting, and he wants to text you. It pulls on her sex thing, which fits into the next you.
She’s got a world of greed, and you’ve a plate of hate.
I can feed me what I need, but it’s for you whom I wait.
You feel to make legends true, and trade salvation for the new.
Some of me loves the sum of you, but I guess I wanted a friend too.
I used to try to mend the equation, and lived each day until its end.
I was the chief of procrastination,and embodied the politics I penned.
You were the science of all history; I reflected your conscious mystery.
There’s no sweet without misery; the sleeping clouds dye the slippery.
I feel to think so that I can live in ink, drinking in linking thinks that sync.
And when my dreams seem to shrink, I recall your pink lips and try to think.
3. Automatic Rolling Machine
Everybody’s preparing for war As the anarchists christen their chief The tailor is despairing while they tour The land like a band of forlorn thievesO how the children are desperately arming As the police calmly sign on the line Before charging off to choke their hope In a peerless vision of designBut now the lion’s ate Prince Charming and the barmy patriot has arrived He’s embalming all the fallen While crying from the cover of his shrineAnd out run the angels of the ascent They’ve all come to hear the choir Then consent to their own torment As they repent below the growing fireO how the Law and all his agents Love to paint such a gritty scene As they pity the flock of fleeceless sheep They see beneath their dirtied feetMeanwhile the elite are dining finely I guess they’re feasting on some geese They shot them up while hunting down The runts they’ve only dreamed of seeing O how they smile like twenty-two liars While the poor lie dying in their dump But we know that they cannot trump them While they preach like some drunken monks And so the chroniclers of this advent Smitten by a very dangerous tune Present you with their clueless lament Written below the burning moon And now there’s a world on the television That says the carnival’s blazing near Says there’s a hundred men dead in heaven That prayed they were never here And now beneath tomorrow’s rainbow The fireworks destroy the dawn While the guilty wait all patient As the innocent fall like pawns And while the politicians are pacing preparing themselves for defeat And while ambition clouds their chase And as the sirens sound their streets The Proud Inquisition disappears into the loud and crowded night Rounding up the town’s last Rowdy Boys Who decided now’s the time to fight O how the lights of London all go out as the Charlatans write away their souls, resigned to orders from another man who’s decided disorder is control4. Hard To SummariseBrother our sisters are the twisters in the skiesThere’s much to resist but not a lot to realiseThe touch of destiny is another compromiseThe crux of everything hides away all its liesPapa wipe the existentialist tripe from my eyesThe sun’s alive and the moon will soon riseI ride the feelings that are hard to summariseEnergy will live forever but the body still dies
Mama fate isn’t hateful but it forsakes my artMy souls wake to goals never too late to startI want to stay forever but still be a tiny partWill you shake the solipsism off my heart5. Nine NapkinsIn the all-night café, a stoned Juliet naps on a makeshift pillow of nine napkins.Juliet dreams that she is Queen & that one of the court jesters is testing out new puns on her.You can tell that the dwarf-like jester badly wants to make her Royal Highness cackle, but sadly not a single pun in ten did.Juliet proceeds to throw tomatoes and fried fish at the fool, who mutates into an empty shell which breaks like cackling flames.This makes Juliet subconsciously wish herself dead, which causes her to regain consciousness and feel royally robbed of something immeasurable.6. Midnight’s Kited Sunrise We eat His son on Sundays Because He invented Mondays But we thank him for the fun days Shoals of sharks swim in his daughterless fishbowl, enchanted. Remember the chess of the purgatory you once took for granted. This Universe is growing, so God must be alive to expand it. Forgiving Love for giving Love. Reliving Love, despite your misgivings. True living is loving you.Loving you is living true. Living Love is something new.I walk to the party, drink too much wine, dance too ferventlyflirt too flirtatiously and make too much of a scene. This enchanted zoo won’t last forever, even if you understand it. The Universe is growing, so God must be alive to expand it. If you ever get to meet the man, demand that He unhand it.Aliens landing, nuking honey Bees in trees, puking moneyCreation’s themes are so funny,Dead as the atoms that run me.Electronic dreams are funky,Freed of the inner monkey.Godly is death and life its flunky…Hark the angel and her junky!Impossible hope seems spunky,Jesters redeem jokes so drunkenly.Kooky sequences scream suddenly,Lemon lifts its love ever so subtly.Madness is truth, but lust is gluttony-Nothing is lucky to be rid of profundity. Open your hid heart to keep me company,Please yourself or sleep artlessly sullenly.Question not he who serves you grumpily,Return to the promise made sumptuouslySee the synapses wake your eyes hungrily,Timing the equation with secret husbandry.Find the hidden tribal riddleUnderneath wisdomCKYOU
7. Good Writing
Would you like to do good writing?Yes.Would you like to get paid for doing good writing?Yes.Would you like to be known as a good writer?Yes.Ah, so you want to be famous?Not particularly.So you are writing purely to satisfy yourself?… if I wanted to read good writing, I would just become a better reader. I write to express myself and because it’s a fun way to document my remarkably still-existent love-life.Ah, so you want to read the good writing that you yourself have written?Not really.Ah, so you want to write badly and get paid for it?Sure. Did you know that I am schizophrenic, disabled, identify as an alien lesbian and am liable to break down at any moment?Great. Our company is all about inclusivity and representation. When can you start?I don’t need your sympathy or hand-outs. I entered this interview with the intention of not securing the job. I am currently a part-time employee of the state, and they wanted me to show them I am actively seeking employment. But I’d prefer to take their money than yours. If I started working for you guys, they would stop my benefits and I wouldn’t earn much more money than I already do.Great, that’s what all of our employees say. Did you know that our company is, at least in basic legal terms, a separate entity to the government?I thought I knew that but I’m not so sure I do anymore.Great, that’s what all of our future bosses say. When can I start?You’re starting to get on my nerves, so I am leaving now. You may keep your job.
8. A Dream You Never Had
I couldn’t be a dream you never had, but forever shouldn’t be good or bad.When you added me I felt so glad,and you kept my mad notepad clad.But then the nomads wept me mad,and so I leapt into sadness’s doodad.Your comrades committed me to the fad,then I slipped into you just a skittle tad.
She wanted it so sadly that she needed it so badly.and I know she’s real because we met in the abbey.She haunted my flabby dreams like glowing acnebut I feel so nappy I don’t even hope she’s crappy.Sometimes her merry feel made me very sappybut I grew closer to you with each dose of crappy.You warred evermore but I never learned what for;I bought your game before to change pain into awe!If you understood the dream that you should have had,forever could’ve seemed good but it would’ve been bad!
I know you probably might feel happybut I hope your God is real and crappy!You’ve so many real ways to trap my nowbut I bear my being so you can’t sap my cow!
Dear Sister Sally,Rally Valley For Finale.Sadly Bradley badly sinned.Gladly Bradley madly skinned.Prepare for Phase Four:Despair your ways, Grazing Floor Whores.Love (Your Dove),Hamley9. Sedokas1Substance is science,tangibly necessary,but the big door will close soon.God is the greatest:her moon is the marathon,and the sentinel shall set.
2Atoms witness it:the shapeless arrive home,rubbishing scientists with choice.Voices were reborn:all of their daughters were wed;my cosmos never begun.
3I fight my ego,trying not cheat you in rhyme,for ego is the body.I know the true truth:I walked a thousand poems,just to impress my new self.
4Classic cola shape,and beautiful lazy eyes,hiding an exquisite mind.It took three whole hours…and then we two spooned to sleep…I was happiest ever.
5And what of our rain –intrepid as dancing dreams --will he go where you take hymn?Summon the refrain-the future’s fallacy’s grim-this chain-smoker shall be slim!
6The sky wants to cry…the boy wants his toy right now;his cow’s sum is hymn somehow.What about that rule?!Bake it with the naked clothes.It takes a fake to break it.
7.Thirty years older,I contemplate that old home,and the music of the heart.What am I but that?Do I look a marathon?Need I apologise now?
10. Violet violet makes a cigarette and takes a selfie.This rite is healthy for those who are wealthy.I wake a veteran with no touch to help me.Bliss-light is stealthy and chose rather to sell me.Violet reads your dreams which pour from her lips like globes.Her needy glorious screams dictate stories into your earlobes.She loves men who are self-loathing narcissists in many-hued robes.You’re a gentleman whose conflagratory zen sued such new hope.Now she tugs on my hair, we hug on the chair,it’s beyond compare; our limbs dance without a care.And in reverence for what is there and for what is not,you abandon this song and forget what you forgot.Violet shepherds the sheep who weep in crimson.One of the choir sings out of tune like a Simpson.But her gaze is on a secret meadow to swim in.And you follow artlessly as art to your extinction.Now she tugs on your hair, you hug on the chair,it’s beyond compare; your limbs dance without a care.And in reverence for what is there and for what is not,i abandon metaphor and forget what i forgot.
12. Too Powerful For Me Or You
Love is beautifully free of bluff.My love is distant inside me.Your love is the key to my love.Love is the colour of destiny.Love helps us feel the God above.Love is majesty amid travesty.I'll love you until I've had enough.
My darling, estrange yourself from vision:Love’s a fission of ears, touch and smell.Blinded by love, we must make a decision:Do we keep Love for our own minds or tell?The ego sells expensive fruit of superstitionBut nothing Love can’t stuff you with as well.Love is not just a meaningless tradition:Love can make heaven out of a messy hell.
Love is true; love isn't new; love will always pull through.But sometimes love is simply too powerful for me or you.
13. Noble CowFly, noble cow, fly straight to the moon.I know you’re no bird, but you will be soon,Ride, noble cow, ride straight to the stars.Up there you will be free of noisy cars.Feast, blessed pigeon, on all of the feast.I know you ache, but you will be released.Eat, blessed pigeon, but leave some for me.The best food is bread, especially if it’s free.Dance, my lover, until your sorrows are dead.I know you can do it, if you just forget your head.Sing, soul of mine, until the puppets come to play.Run from the night of heartbreak to a new silent day.
14. Summer’s FriendI got a lover whose strutsI got a lover stuck in a rutI got a lover who sweetly tutsAnd one who treats me with peanuts
I see my world in the windowI see my world move in limboI see myself lose at bingoAs you translate the word of Domingo
My baby free me from the mistMy baby free me from what existsMy baby frees me with her lipsWhich reiterate that this is no trip
Summer springs into WinterSummer’s wings are but a hintSummer’s king is the fit sprinterAnd soon all things will be out of print
There’s a grace to every heartThere’s a place where we all loveThere’s no space left in the cartAnd there’s a face to every dove
She misses the end at the beginningShe misses the beginning at the endI miss living in sin with her and her singingAnd I can’t pretend I need another friend
14. Love Is This
I can’t adore you forever, but I have for ten years.Now you’ve had enough of tough love and tears.I never expected your voice to kiss my ears…But bliss is love is this.
Hell, my gut leapt into her chestnut eyes.I dreamt at the well in torment til' sunrise.I fell in love with her accented speech.I wish she’d teach the English to speak.Pies and butterflies surprise us at the beach.I’ll figure she’s a bigger geek by the end of week.I’ll consider the mirror and my killer and freak.Cheek to cheek you’re a sneak peek of the blue.But she has a sweet physique and she’s chic too.Yet if she’d allow I’d much rather touch you.We know not why yet we grow to die anyhow.I still wish we had spoken our vow aloud in a crowd.I will woke broken because the joke is on me now.I’ve spent a grand on drugs in sorrow’s sands.I’ve followed hallucinations to the far-off lands.Yet no-one understands how I miss your hands…For bliss is love is this.
Well, I fall in thrall of her childish smile.I think that soon we’ll walk down the aisle.It rains on the dole so we take a stroll.I know all the while there will be a toll.I fall in love with her monsoon soul.Yeah, I am under the thunder’s control.I wonder if thunder is lightening's goal.I read the bible scroll the whole way through.The tiny loophole just reminds me of my boo.See, I guess I’d rather be with her than you.Do not ask me what I forgot or why or how.I’m not spoken for and need a needy vow.I woke up broken and the joke’s on me now.Maybe I’ll forever miss her or I’m finally free.I guess the best feeling was your kiss upon me.Maybe you'll never bliss-transfer my key.She's tall and funny and clever and fresh and down to Earth.I still recall her money hands showing this clown what he’s worth.When we were just friends, you were so blue.Before the end, we were more than lovers too.Others are true, but I reminisce for you who knewThat bliss is love is this.
Well, knowing you is torture but not knowing you is worse.I wonder if you are the author of self-devotional verse.But my senses are reeling, so my own feeling I’ll nurse.I’m not equipped to fight this love alone & the curse can’t be cured by septic.
We live in a world of mirrors & fate & conscience.Girls are clearer but fate predates such nonsense.
I search under the sun for the one without pretense.You invite me to picnic & I wonder if this event will make a believer a skeptic.
We bake a cake & go to the seaside; we light a joint.The cake tastes vile but that's a moot point; our hands conjoin.I stutter about friendship & then you reach for my groin.Your lipstick & caramel tongue leave my loins employed until love is bliss is this.I cherish the essence of your tongue as our lips kiss.I wish your presence among us was as eternal as this.But it’s as temporary as tulips, as fleeting as the mist.Your eyes slip into mine & my mind’s numb is eclipsed by a skinny dip.
We run into the sea, there’s a ship and we are loving.~What’s got to be has got to be; there is no bluffing.I almost fall in love with you when I see you blushing.The sun trips & fires a glare at you; you are stunning from hair to hips.The blessing sung, I feel younger, and I enter your abyss.I rejoice in your voice as grace builds & I yield to the bliss.But it’s temporary as the faces of those dying to exist.Your eyes dip into mine & I miss the place where lust is love is this is bliss.Now you are doing well, I hear, & I’m not one to leer.
But silence swells & stretches; it lingers on my ears.The wretch of love is wed to time without you to steer.I drink a sip of wine & think of the year & pier & into the seer of sleep I slip. I dream in cold colours then your form lights up my eyes.
The heat you emit is extreme; your come-hither makes me rise. You strip, your black nipples erect & I get butterflies in surprise. You quip the companion of sleep offers a compromise & you duel my lips.I figure the bigger the love, the more vigorous is each test.
Night after night, I see you in dreamy zest; I wish you the best.In one, we’re Neanderthals & ride stoned elephants to inverness.Not to be glib, but in another we raise our kid & love is love is this is bliss.
Bliss is love is this.This is love is bliss.Love is bliss is this.Bliss is this is love.16. Soul Haikuswish I could expresssomething as sad as moviebut soul’s everythingno art can compareit’s as if I’ve lost my heartsalvation’s distant(as sad as film yaywe shall stay in the EUwell done Obama)them I will forgetshattering kaleidoscopethat shit was the truthI am not sorryso why should you be sorrywe are not sorry(my world would be lostwithout her heart’s melodycos’ it makes me feel…)the shenanigansof your tulips here todaytime spiralled awayconditionally soulI’d give you control of ityou can have it all(it is not that muchbecome pilot of my worldyes that would be good)
17. I Wouldn’t Be Me Without You
O drunk on skunkYou’d make a good monkBut you ain’t no punkKeep your sunken wits about youSome people (Seraphs) may doubt youBut don’t let the fools be without you
To nowhere we’d goLaughing in the snowAt the old horrorshow
You’ve been around, Nobody’s ClownNowhere to be found as shit goes downBut take that frown off your faceSo many things time cannot eraseNothing can be cured by an embrace
Actualise the unborn wish that you chase
We used to cry every dayBut we were happy anywayThe stream of dreams ends at the bayAre my dreams with you now?Did you live them, anyhow?I wonder how many, each ant & cowDepression is a drag but so is deathSo value every breath, Lady Macbeth:Better to forgive & forget in Slough.You’re a prodigy but no god to me, you knowYou’re a polymath when you laugh, Edgar Allen Poe
So take that frown off your faceSo many things time cannot eraseNothing can be cured by an embraceActualise the unborn wish that you chase
18. DERAILED BY THE DREAM
I’m indebted to you and Kratom and the internet and Gate’s computer.I thank my God for every atom that screws the fate of every persecutor.My ex-suiter look cute in glasses, but you know who looks even cuter?My ex-suiter dressed in a spacesuit as she passes a Future that suits her.I want to enhance both of our lives while everyone else dances.I want to take a chance with her real self as feeling advances.
I love it when her forgiving voice strums my eardrums and numbs my true heart.I went from start to end to a hundred humdrums to tumbling into mumbling to new art.
I’ve got mugs plugging drugs for my vanity and to advance the trance of sanity.I want to enter into Eternity 2 not doubting humanity’s chance or my inanity.I need to achieve Plan A because I banned the phoney dreams of Plan B and C, see.I only want to know your Modernity and be freed from a lonely or greedy eternity.
I’m better at wishing letters into words than E-sports or thought or being an escort.If I were to run for US President, I would probably be thwarted by the Supreme Court.If I were to run at the US President, security would catch me because I’m too short.I wish to apologise on behalf of the US but to be considered Irish on my passport.
I want scenic sounds to surround the compound where the Queen was uncrowned.I want to trade rupees for pounds for the green trinities that grow on the ground.~I want to be spellbound by every slow affair in every last romantic book of the past.I want to be found in your prayers there where the vast frantic brook blasts by fast.
I want to use the faculties of my impressionism to create a good hummus wrap.I want her to subtract from our sum then add until she’s done as I take a nap.I want to know if my medication does in fact act as I a mind-dampening trap.I want to explore more of the map, not be damned or submersed in crap.
Do those on absurd-pay cheat by using wordplay to repeat herd-cliché?I won’t let myself be derailed by following the orgiastic dream of yesterday.I’ll swallow the torn bikini she wore in her 22nd life on my 49thbirthday.I bet most schemes for wealth fail if ghostly dreams of self-get in the way.Sometimes my love feels superhuman as a sculpture and that’s not just as of late.I feel like I’m a parachuter with a looper carried by a vulture towards my fate.I don’t want a divorce from culture, but I don’t want to be forced to lose weight.If we could create a date for you to checkmate my prostate, of course that’d be great.
19. Yawning Light
So, though we know it’s true that I loved you,How could I know I love what I don’t know?I learned not to hate your state of elated blue,And your vow was the content curse of snow!
I can reach for you here in my dreams now,But you seem to be on another beach far away.I still seem to adore each pore of your eyebrow,But the heathen of night and I dream of day!
When there are happy tears in my mornings,Why do I miss you again when it turns night?Am I yearning after the years the dawn sings,Yet spurning the burning of its yawning light?
Sometimes it’s just easier to feel alone,Especially when you know the truth is true.I want to forget what’s really set in stone,But only if that feeling by fluke includes you!
Perhaps I’m heading for a long-lost Winter,Or I’ve taken the hint and accepted that you’re gone.I’ll no longer look for you in every single splinter,But is every single splinter I’ve seen so wrong?!
When there are happy tears in my mornings,Why do I miss you again when it turns night?Am I yearning after the years the dawn sings,And spurning the burning of the yawning light?
I’m going under the tundra again soon --I’ll see the rainbow flowing any old moon.You didn’t exactly bore me with your tune,Yet then again in law I am but another loon!
I loved your eyes, but I never saw them cry…Maybe you shed one or didn’t shed any at all.Something inside says that even angels lie,But even the dead must ride to follow the call!
When there are happy tears in my mornings,Why do I miss you again when it turns night?Am I yearning after the years the dawn sings,And spurning the burning of the yawning light?
20. Ground Zero [Version 2]
I love the way you passionately sleep and how you make a sweet sound. It makes heroes want to weep how close we are to Ground Zero now. Freedom’s forgetful avenue beckons and I reckon there’s just room for two. Let a reincarnation of Secret Heaven speedily screw your seedy worldview. She told me she told you I told you how life is a game of chance and dance. But I said that life is a lame musical enhanced by unnamed pharmaceuticals.
There’s nowhere left to go, grant me nothing’s escape. You’re a thousand desires, sprawled in stormy shape. Make me disappear from fate, fearful I might wake. You’re the seer I revere and nothing is at stake.
Give me the majesty of your madness today Make me glad to be sad, take me away Help me say what I don’t know how to say
Just as nuclear warfare was once a fiction, one day the heavens will rejoice. While mental slavery still clips wings, gentle voices will sing for lack of choice. Some care to share the snaring infant of despair while others brave a silent prayer. But I know forgotten love is worth it and though it’s rare it’s on Earth somewhere. The slinky stairs to the fairer lead nowhere but they trace orphaned dreams. Thinking of the place don’t erase the regime but let’s paddle upstream.
Summon the sun to make us numb till we become one And succumb to what was done before the war begun. Remind me we are designed, show me slowly how to grow Until I only know the nothing we owned so long ago.
Give me the majesty of your madness today Make me glad to be sad, take me away Help me say what I don’t know how to say
21. The Walker
As her eyes accommodatefrom the billion-leafed glitterof deep jungle, the walkerspies prayed-for water wherethe sun bounces like a saigaoff the savannah.
This is fresh to her:to watch forwards rather
than clamber to seek. Sand grainsslither under her slim feet.Despite the drowsing civetsand wild dogs, she steps hersoft track behind her clearso her friends might follow.
She can sense as much waterin her breasts as in the earth;except there is a denial of watereven in ground-air: only whorlsof liquefied heat you find aboveelephant-tracks or the treadof limestone beds. Tiny streamsstart at the hoof point of beasts—mirages and fractured mirrors.
On the plain she glimpsesair-rivers and flat inland oceansof light above which mountainsflicker: arks of snow wreckedon their crowns—the roofof Africa, sunstruck then shadow-halved then forestialwith star-flowers. To herthose highlands seeman escape of stone, an islandblown inland by the simoom,dust-devils spinning the landgrain by grain into place.
Her mother’s stories tell howwhen those mountainsbloomed from underworld lodesspringing geladas led their fatappetites to the snow-capsmuscled like woolly gods;and then the gorillas lurchedthrough the forests to stealtheir high hammocks. Her motherbelieves the star-flowersshrove the geladas, scolded them;those monkey-gods were elved now,scarced in shape. The summitsthemselves diminished too:they wept so hard theyno longer kept the seasonbut wore their water as snow-necklaces, ice-pearls…
When the waterhole wentwolves ran with their thirstshigher than fur could manage:they loped the dry coursesto their source, lapping parchedstone where water buried its songand as they pounded upwardsseeking the wet tongueof that voice, so the geladasskittered, bounding higherup that mountain roofuntil they regained the snowand turned to starefrom its gleaming ridge.
The wolves fathereda line of grey wolf-stonesbelow the snow, stakedthem for years, while belowthe plains wilted to sand;the forest breathedits leaf-litter in and outuntil one day it breathed inmaggots and breathed outblowflies, and our walker woke.
Overhearing melt-waterour walker wakes; she balancesher thirst against the night’s dew,steadies herself to the climbingtrack, unloads her step behind herone by one. Shadows moistenher heeled hollows; the moon’ssun sets her prints as stone,and she senses herself neitherwalk nor walker, striding the hillin the light of all she knows—geladas guarding the whiteheights; star-flowersglistening in crevices;the crouched wallof wolves;
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