42 days in the desert

Hooked into the dynamo I go with the flow around with the tyre attached to a wire I fall free
concrete and steel, tell me how does it feel when the blood shows a route that I’ve mapped, with sellotape on my legs I beg for assistance from strangers, no danger of them hearing this, in that sweet moment of bliss when your heart opens up to spill out the secrets you’ve kept in a cup with the teeth and a pickled onion because that tastes so nice when you rackup another point on the scoreboard of life where the winners get prizes for lies and the surprise is there’s prizes at all.
I fall free,
sucking in oxygen like a fish out of water and they never taught me, that to survive I’d have to roll over and die a thousand times in a thousand lines of cocaine where the sane truly are insane,
the dynamo slows and I drink vodka and lemonade, trying to recreate another page, I invent, concrete, steel and cement tell me how does it feel when you feel the skin start to peel and the secrets slip out?
I am hooked and whichever way you look at it it’s a tag which will follow me through this life into the cemetery and the next life beyond, but beyond all expectations when the illumination of light that filters in through the mirrors in my mind
I find
a peace
in her.

© 2015 – 2016, John Smallshaw.