Oh how the stars draw us forward from the mud of our original homes,
tasting fine wine and aged cheese, we lock ourselves in time.
“She said what!?”
We polarise and we jeopardise our innocence for projections of better lives.
A greener garden, a deeper love, a bigger bank of plastic paper and kings and queens and untold horrors, we sacrifice our innocence…
We lock ourselves in time.
But meaning! You yell; that is our virtue! That is our saviour!
Oh but hollow are your thoughts.
Oh but hollow is your money.
Oh but empty is your stomach,
after your caviar and wine.
For no love was made in the future,
no baby born in the past,
no ecstasy is to be found,
in words and drawings.
So tell your favourite stories,
draw to your hearts content,
but on your dying bed,
with your head on your lovers lap,
do not touch a single thought,
do not long for your own mind.
For you are here,
do not miss it…
your death is ever-present.