Bottle tops in the rain

Image by GraphicMama-team from Pixabay

Oh, the daft howled witch was she,

No longer needing to be given any more curry

For she was making her own in self expression

As a medium of surrender to be obeyed.

Image by GraphicMama-team from Pixabay

Crisp bread and inch-nails,

Tomatoes in the dark mating overtime in the paradigm shifts

Sulphurous and tooth-ache living nobody’s dream at all,

Illeperous and strange.

One more thing to forget about we say as we cast our dispersions and

Flay our prayers inside out and

Sing like weasels to the merciful god to save us.

Image by mollyroselee from Pixabay

And the bubbles we exist in merely metaphors for safe spaces

Where we know the names of the war mongers and death dealers by heart

And yet can hardly raise a cheer for anyone who speaks peace?

Nobody’s perfect growing weak at the knees

When we’re all the same you say

And call off all interpretations except your own.

Now that’s talking.

No wonder you’re in the house of power.

As the witch cast her spells one after the other

I became inundated so that I thought

Where am I coming from to make this,

And what am I thinking about the most

Amongst all the bottle tops in the rain.

Image by Christine Sponchia from Pixabay

Ah yes, I’ve been having a nagging feeling all day,

Think its coming from the witch, she keeps

Saying things at me and

I keep swearing I'm blind,

Blind I say,

Oh yes,

And swearing it out loud too.

Image by skeeze from Pixabay

These things might look strange to someone looking in,

But inside the window,

Me and the witch have been building up

About something all day and kind of looking on

For another record breaking round of alley cats

Or something.

Image by naobim from Pixabay

I was the sailor wanting to sail on,

Who needed the sea to move the planks under his feet again.

I was the wind that should never be caged.

She was becoming the cage.

As I was fading away like some message in a bottle

Floating on the seas,

Some existing treasure living only for hope and could float on forever...

Image by Adina Voicu from Pixabay

My face was slapped… are you listening to me she said?

My love, how could I not, I said

As I rubbed my face with the soft of my hand to make it better.

Come to me she said then

And rolled a sad sandwich hardly underneath the olive tree and fluttered her eyelashes at me.

I gnashed my teeth and looked into the future where slaves died,

But couldn’t see any hope more than what I was carrying,

So I just carried on, and never looked back

Until I grew into what I would be.

Image by Kaitlyn Millet from Pixabay

I am the anchorage slave,

The piece that was left behind,

The part that was saved, and wondering

If the dead ever reached this far

And if they ever ate sad sandwiches for free

And was I the love cure of something.

When she bit my ear a rain of confusion swept over me

Like the teeth of a lion eating walnuts where

Sometimes I skip things that don't interest me

And the rest of the time I make things that do…

The paradigm machine, flying on fumes

And passing down messages all over the place was saying

I am the ageless in your temple.

I am the stardust on your throne.

What are you going to do now?

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

Wirelessly or otherwise I was ageless and skinny and

Just coming out of the bushes for a very long time, and

So really didn’t have that much of a chance.

And dying, I became rocks at midnight where the witch had caught me

And was doing her deadly deeds on me.

Lusciously I let her.

Image by Isabel Fernandez from Pixabay

Images from Pixabay