The day the big man died.

Do you remember?
Do you remember the day the Big man died?
Do you?

Do you remember how terribly violent he was,
can you remember that?
Can you remember his eyes, the size of his hands?
You do remember.

You remember how he stank, his odour, his massive
feet?
I cant forget the smell of his sweat.

He set the street on fire!
The Big man killed the town.
Lost his family,smashed to pieces photos of nieces,
sick and shit on the floor.
The police smashed down his door.
They took him away, the Big man, you remember?

Not every town has a Big man, not like our town.
Not like our Big man.
That was the day he died.

Moon Farms...

Phospheric plumes and moon farms dotted the landscape.
An escape to another reality, drowning in the Cosmos ethereality.

I only looked through a gap in the wall, thats when it happened.
I turned to tell my friends my find, then I realised id been left behind.
In a new world.

Silence and mercurial colours.
Silent tornadoes, plumes and farms, reminiscent of the inside of marbles,
that magic swirl inside.

Time change irregularities and round water, gravitys games.
Round water leaves the hand dry.
Phospheric plumes rise into the sky.
The grounds a bleached Peach colour, irremoveable sand.
Only the air dreamed.

The smell in the air was plastic like erasers.
No breeze no trees just whirlpools and swirlpools plumes and farms.

Moon farms like bubbles out the ground, perfectly round and formed.
Like balls of volcanic lava firing upwards, produced from petfectly
round looking puddles.

Sky baby yellow ,floor Peach.
Formed moons pour from the floor onwards and skywards.
Still being seen when they've gone, like dreams popping but
remembered.

Cowboy and Clown.

Like hell when you close your eyes,
if only.
Haunted and lonely.

Clown's and Cowboys taunt me, grinning.
Clowns bow tie spinning.
Cowboy changes colours and keeps grinning.

Whens it gonna end, this brain bend,
this sick claw inside.
Whens my mind mend, and the claw withdraw?

Got more gruesome faces.

I see they've decided to climb inside my mind and
find the pulleys to pull, to make my skull shake,
shatter and break.

So tears fall like the clowns, as the cowboy rides through
town.
But the Clown and Cowboy that haunt me,
return to taunt me, and I laugh at them, then shoot them.
Then the sunrises.

picture a puddle.

Picture a puddle, plate shape round.
A zillion miles deep,
no bottom to be found.

Now the puddle that you picture
so perfectly round, turn it around so
the top cant be found.

Now your facing the bottom,
cos bottoms side up, open the cupboard and grab a cup.
And drink from the puddle,
whether bottom or top,
cos it all tastes the same,
every last drop.

Sobriety. ...

I will succeed and live again,
and be the real me.
I can feel me coming back again,
shackles snapped and free.
Ive started to dream again,
like the Dr said,
all the dreams are bad that pour inside my head.

But clouds will lift,
and sun will shine,
and ill shower the world,
with words not wine.

Im physically strong and my brain soon too.
Youll soon see when I fire words at you!

The pen is mightier than the sword
And....
available to all.!!

Mojo Risin...

MOJO RISIN...

Always a word man never a bird man,
he wrote.
He was haunted by his sights,
Indians scattered on dawns highway bleeding.

He was young and witnessed death,
the dieing Indians last breath.
It was his frail egg shell mind, he left behind, haunted.
But words replaced memories and feelings, and Doors opened from floors to ceilings.

Seize the day, the days divinity, and freeze the way the dsys dig into me.
I'll rise like Mojo,
and choose where I go,
I'll go my way,
not dawns highway.