Ascension
Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2014 10:05 am
(Listen and read https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATQNfW7 ... e=youtu.be )
“Oh no, Oh no
You’ve left me alone”
Said a sad, empty voice.
My voice, a white bird on a journey: flying between point A and B,
Listening to songs I can’t answer.
“Foreign to me!” The land I fly between is full of odd birds,
Cherp, cherp, tweet, tweet as they snap their beaks.
I can hear conversations behind me as I count the stations before me.
Conversations before me as the stations fade behind me.
Moving at an unnatural speed I feel dirty.
In a seat where I can only watch,
The wind beneath flapping wings,
Wings that whisper to winter’s cold ears.
So cool.
Winter’s teeth bite hard and deep.
She, she bites so deep, she bites me.
Her teeth sink deep when she bites me,
“Mother’s child, wicked descendant of nature!
Why are you so angry?”
Let me help you
Let me fly again,
Let me warm her cool breath; her breeze
And shit on the concrete beneath me: grey, bleak,
Hard grey sheets of man’s stone;
Man’s nature:
Metaphoric oxymoron.
Unnatural.
Honestly I don’t think a train or any similar thing is for me.
Don’t
Put me in a sweaty four wheeled red thing either,
Filled with dead things. Gluttony;
All beings fed up,
In beltless seats.
Don’t plant my bottom on a rock of a seat,
Hands on grips too slippery, sore feet from peddling.
Over every crack and urban tor, peddling, passed everything,
Missing everything.
I wish: I would rather be buried beneath six feet,
Then sat beside or beneath twenty.
Claustrophobic in some taxi or choking in any sort of traffic,
Or buried deep enough to fight for seats on the metal mole.
Crawling through its networked holes.
Dark flickering lights and popping ears: train in a tunnel
A joke!
Perverted innuendo.
I wish: I didn’t want a personal, polluting traffic-generator.
Shiny consumer for consumers. Murder; clutching
Mother Nature’s throat, violent; brutalizing bone breaker,
Waiting to be refilled
Mother dead in a pool of diesel.
But then again, to walk the concrete path that stands on her face.
Seems contradictory.
I wish: I can spread my wings and fly high,
Past the robot pigeons that carry the virus across continents,
Heathrow, Stanstead,
Past the interstellar phallus that wants to touch grandmother’s stars.
“Ascension!”
Past green God and his viral non-believers and believers and all inbetweeners.
Take me to where it all began, when we were healthy.
Irony; when to be… We were not.
“Oh no, Oh no
You’ve left me alone”
Said a sad, empty voice.
My voice, a white bird on a journey: flying between point A and B,
Listening to songs I can’t answer.
“Foreign to me!” The land I fly between is full of odd birds,
Cherp, cherp, tweet, tweet as they snap their beaks.
I can hear conversations behind me as I count the stations before me.
Conversations before me as the stations fade behind me.
Moving at an unnatural speed I feel dirty.
In a seat where I can only watch,
The wind beneath flapping wings,
Wings that whisper to winter’s cold ears.
So cool.
Winter’s teeth bite hard and deep.
She, she bites so deep, she bites me.
Her teeth sink deep when she bites me,
“Mother’s child, wicked descendant of nature!
Why are you so angry?”
Let me help you
Let me fly again,
Let me warm her cool breath; her breeze
And shit on the concrete beneath me: grey, bleak,
Hard grey sheets of man’s stone;
Man’s nature:
Metaphoric oxymoron.
Unnatural.
Honestly I don’t think a train or any similar thing is for me.
Don’t
Put me in a sweaty four wheeled red thing either,
Filled with dead things. Gluttony;
All beings fed up,
In beltless seats.
Don’t plant my bottom on a rock of a seat,
Hands on grips too slippery, sore feet from peddling.
Over every crack and urban tor, peddling, passed everything,
Missing everything.
I wish: I would rather be buried beneath six feet,
Then sat beside or beneath twenty.
Claustrophobic in some taxi or choking in any sort of traffic,
Or buried deep enough to fight for seats on the metal mole.
Crawling through its networked holes.
Dark flickering lights and popping ears: train in a tunnel
A joke!
Perverted innuendo.
I wish: I didn’t want a personal, polluting traffic-generator.
Shiny consumer for consumers. Murder; clutching
Mother Nature’s throat, violent; brutalizing bone breaker,
Waiting to be refilled
Mother dead in a pool of diesel.
But then again, to walk the concrete path that stands on her face.
Seems contradictory.
I wish: I can spread my wings and fly high,
Past the robot pigeons that carry the virus across continents,
Heathrow, Stanstead,
Past the interstellar phallus that wants to touch grandmother’s stars.
“Ascension!”
Past green God and his viral non-believers and believers and all inbetweeners.
Take me to where it all began, when we were healthy.
Irony; when to be… We were not.