The Madness of King George

What is necessary, is to write
I fear I am drifting into the unnecessary realm of doughey contentment.

It should be taught
That the gaps in productivity are not
Highly organised or phallic
Or in the madness of King George's Head
They can sit in your soul
Like tiny green witches
Hunted like they are.

You all laugh
And say
You know
But what do you know?
You know nothing
And nothing begets nothing
All will circulate until we are dead.
And now that I am done with you
You may go.

6,775,235,741

What choice of words
Or mix of memory
Could be conjured upon you?
Sugar-pie,
Moon-beam,
Sweet-cheeks?
Not even predictive texting agrees with me.

Would you have me remember that your skin smells
Like play-dough?
Your brittle hair, such a glad
Contrast to your soft face.

And then you mean the world to me.

My worst quality shines through
Even now -
Emotionally stupid.
You, somehow,
A Mythical Other
You,
A sovereign sex.

I look at how we talk, how we attempt
And guess what The Other means,
We both intertwine and combine,
Become parabolic prophasis, reborn in ambiguity.

It takes a moment
Before I remember my solitude,
Or decide once more,
Unclench my fists,
Feel the hot irons of tension release.

It's not self aware. It has no self.

That love is no commodity?
And If I would do my best,
If only I always remembered
That it was my own electrical impulses
I adored?

That those best suited to love
Would choose themselves first?

And as I remember, the Earth has gone full revolution
Twenty one times already,
Whilst six billion, seven hundred and seventy five million, two hundred and thirty five thousand, seven hundred and forty one eyes stare back, into the gaze of the
Burning desolation of the sun,

Celestial bodies who coexist with each other
On a small planet,
In the middle of nowhere,
Dearest lovers, bigger still than all of it.

Learn to Return

It took me seven hours
Seven pints of watered down beer like piss
Seven grams of ecstasy

To look at the past seven days of the World,
My, small world
My personal world
Made of one nose
Two ears
Two eyes
Two hands
And too much assumption

To watch people dissemble to objective reality
Watch Fathers curse their kids
Watch Kids balk and wail in streets in their own interest
Watch myself get tattooed by people's phrases,
To wonder,
How much power I had,
Whether I was in control,
Since I could never know
The modes of operation,
When all of our beings
Are made of assumption.

We'll fight each other
In a ritual of self loathing,
Apes on a treadmill.
And I'll start muttering under my breath
Take the car out more often
And drive nowhere.

Where I'll take
Seven bottles of whiskey
Seven grams of cocaine
And take seven hours alone,
Where after constructing something
I can understand, I'll forgive it all
And learn to return.

For Mother

Oh mother, I’m a lone dog
Walking myself by the reservoir
Loyal in starvation
Ignoble in reason
Driven towards discomfort
Where sleep is for dreamers
Watching my hairy skin
Age before my eyes.

Are you Mother?
I had asked to a woman of no dissimilar
Stature
Height
And appearance.
Yes she called
And she took me away
Where I became another son
Another girl’s boy?

O mother
You have made this lone dog a girlboy unique.
How many more sleepless nights?
How many girlboys with pale lined faces will traipse
With me
Towards school today?
Consigned to lol and omg I’ll brb.
When I’m ready, when the time is right,
I’ll sleep again, I promise but the night is long yet
Mother, for a dog girlboy,
And I’ve got all these years to go.