Victory to me,
this is an interstellar reminder that I am going to be big in this world.
As giggly females crack softly up,
I sojourn through this dark space
vying for your golden attention.
And praying as the chorus roars,
and a split appears in the seam of human understanding…
Who me, a good samaritan?
All I did was the best I could with that provided.
Things are lifting now -
I’m progressing upwards on a social conveyerbelt…
at least, inside this stonefruit of a reckoning place.
Pardon my disgust, but I waited three hours just to hear you mumble that you love me.
And now, all that’s been built in my honour,
shall stand on as a testament to my ambivalent pain.
Trust is here - we’ll discover together.
I feel and need your feeling.
Do you desire my bath tub ring personae,
and ambidextrous four finger emotional state?
Things are gliding now -
I built a paddle pop stick castle,
a veritable mansion from things once sucked and discarded.
Sucked and discarded like you,
sucked and discarded like me.
Time is turning – it’s a brilliant orb.
My ranging desire came and ate you up for the sake of it.
I want to start sleeping together – waking up to savour your
fragile feminine psyche, and weepalot eyes.
Tasting you straight out of the garden,
has got to beat having you canned.
All over my back like a paint spattered canvas in speckles of red and purple -
A time to wake up smiling and one to die sleeping.
Groaning in the background like a slow-turning death,
rising up from the shadows like ephemeral joy.
Anxiety beat me – I was a gun.
Fourth time in and I could smell imminent defeat,
Gliding across the story board – enter and exit lubriciously like
a dandelion cinderella.
Dressing gown – a sure fire passage to instant comfort.
Turning now – turning away from everything we’ve become accustomed to.
Running on beaches manic like street preachers,
dedicated to a purpose
as a glove is to insulation.
Bargaining for security, me and carlo
caught in a partial rainstorm.
His time is split now between something infinite - like money,
and something inconsequential like the universe or child birth.
Chris Canham (taken from my book ‘Tired eyes search for sunrise’)