Chrome Yellow

The smoke that swirled up from her pipe

hung there in the air, partly obscuring her face

 

With cupped hands she began to gather the smoke

as if it were sand on the beach

 

Very carefully she began stroking and teasing it

until it appeared to be taking on the properties

of a solid

 

What had been the contents of her lungs moments

before, were now compressed to the size of a tennis-

ball

 

This blue-grey sphere hung there between us like

some strange smoke-filled soap-bubble

 

As I began to open my mouth to say something

a sword the size of a pin flew from my lips, and

burst the bubble whereupon the smoke fell to the

floor like fine white snow…….

          “…don’t you know?”

       she said, with a grin,

  “…that’s just the way that wars begin!”

 

As she refilled the pipe with twigs and weeds

she raised one eye-brow and a voice somewhere

between us said…..”so you want to find yourself,

do you?……..don’t you know that talking to yourself

is the first sign of ’SANITY?”….

“And with that my mouth involuntarily said “FORKS”

but the sound didn’t come…..

                          instead

    from the side of her bed

came the unmistakable sound of forks falling on a

wooden floor…….and everything began to rhyme

                                then I heard the chime

                                      of her quartz clock

        a rooster appeared, with an immense cock

                               ……..attached to it’s head

                                    by the wind it is lead

                   but East is opposite North instead

    

  then she scooped it up

    and it turned to twigs..

before my eyes could adjust….

…….the phosphorous flash of IGNITION

                     the firey INQUISITION

As she relit the pipe, with what seemed to be

             my thoughts and dreams made real

                                        in solid words

                                            in solid air

                             I cried in deep despair

                   for the weight of untold shame

                             that showered like rain

                   on those who could not explain

                                         their own pain

                             on those trapped in shame

                               those crucified for vain

                           making everyone to blame

                                             for MY pain

                                    which falls like rain

                                into her upturned hand

                                   where it forms a lake

                                     called “my mistake”

 

Based on a lack or something missing

                     I can hear the hissing

                          of the black snake

                  the guardian of the gate

                 my birthright to legislate

                catch fire before my eyes

                 as  another dreamy spire

                 of grey-blue smoke…….

                     …….rises into the void

for a brief moment the only rhyme is

                                PARANOID

             but just as quickly it is gone

 

As the pipe glows then rises musical notes pour

from its bowl as if the Mistral wind itself were

blowing through the embers.

Upon inhaling I am surprised to find that my

companion has been joined by Oscar Wilde…

heavily, theatricaly disguised as an empty chair

                     with accompanying wall-paper

 

This observation becomes solid in the air

and suddenly there are chairs everywhere

in my pockets, in my pipe, in my hair…..

chairs of every size and type and colour everywhere

no standing room, just chair upon chair upon chair

 

“Collect your thoughts” said Oscar Wilde

to me, as if I was a naughty child

So, slowly, I gather the chairs together

with cupped hands, like sand, into one single chair

then lay my pipe upon it to make it real

from behind the canvas I step….my hands reveal..

                        PAINT AND BRUSH

                           IN SUCH A RUSH

                       GRIND AND CRUSH

                           YELLOW OCHRE

                         CHROME YELLOW

                                  yell “HELLO!”

                                        ’”HELLO!”

“’                           “HELLO!”

“    “….have you fallen in love with that pipe?” asks the chair

                                         As I stare…

            yellow sunflowers everywhere

festoon the walls, the floor, the chair…..

                 elsewhere…

theres rubber cothes and x-ray hair

           starry nights and daymares

         loveless thighs and derrieres

          cut price love unguaranteed

    sure-fire ways to dispose of seed

right now…… with GREED-SPEED

            rivers of come, knee-deep

            bed’s on fire…..can’t sleep

 cut off my ears but they won’t bleed

               instead they turn to weed

which I place on the chair with the pipe

and invite my companion to take her feed

       

   “…don’t mind if I do” she replies

  “…but must we forever sit inside?”

 “..not far from here I think I spied”

 “… a cornfield……some countryside..”

“we could walk far, and near, and wide

 then round and left and right outside

 till darkness falls upon our heads…..

  and sends us scurrying for our beds”

 

But sleep won’t come

because some elektronik hum

is buzzing in the walls

makes me shiver in my balls

till my spirit-level falls

and my skin begins to crawl

off my body,….up the walls

         reality DISSOLVES

………skinned alive on a granite rock

……beneath the stars of future-shock

 

                 alone…….

with billions of others

           with no cover

other …than the cold blankets of mist

                                     that hiss

           from the wounds in my wrist

                              reality persists

              CAN MY SOUL RESIST?

          WILL MY HEART DESIST?

 FROM BEATING IN MY BREAST

WILL MY BONES STAND THE TEST?

…….or will they crumble like the rest?

                             and be blessed

                                        by her

          as she smokes me in her pipe ….

               I am scorched by her love

         that comes raining from above

                   into my upturned hand

        and when I can no longer stand

               another day another night

                  in this lifetime of fright

                 and I want to take flight

               I drink her from my hand

 like fresh spring water on a summer’s day

                      she makes my head sway

              to the natural rythm

               of her breath……..

                 of her smoke…..

                   of her hair……..

                     of her chair….

        of ANYWHERE

      where she is…..

 

She gives me back my skin

         fills me to her brim

then strikes another match

and draws me deep inside

 till I can no longer hide…

      my grin, a mile wide

   I’m safe here inside

          ………outside

         ………inside

     THE VOID….