Monday, 9 April 2012


Spoke-spinning memories -
Your glittering soundtrack song.
How it re-ignites that otherworly out-of-time sparkle..

Your artist..
Your band..

Such things beyond price,
Beyond even the conscious imaginings
of your star-trail makers,
Despite their shamanic foot-falling alchemical dance,
Imprinting upon your fragile cosmos so efforlessly -
So it seems,
Lighter than the fall of snowflakes.

They're just talking to you.
They're the only ones who really care enough to understand
your misunderstood stellar ineffableness.
And your - dare I say it? swallow Special and Unique Soul(TM).
Don't cough.

The song, your song, our song, as precious as stars as precious as that heart-break.
As precious as..
The dog food,
The toilet roll,
The car insurance,
The cheques waved..
Oh!.leaving you alone - betrayed again.
Leaving you alone to tend and water a new heart-break.
That song, your song, our song, just noise:
Blacksmiths' forging empty vessels;
Fingernails scraping down the fretboard.

Pay the price for following the rats playing piper,
As memories soiled count the cost -
Memories reduced to composers' compost.
They have to pay:
Pay architects to build man-made lagoons,
Around their swimming pools.
Gated magicians eat raw golf smashing toadstools.

In the evening,
As concrete dayglo pours through their third-eye,
Gardeners vacuum their astroturf
and exterminate butterflies.
That's new age Buddhism for you.

.................Their salmon blow bubbles beneath
the air conditioned hi-jacked palm tree,
Tangled up in zimmer frames.