Last nights concoction

[breathtest]

Dense rain fluorescent with disco lights explodes on concrete and shoes
Filters through disturbed leaves which shout in low-pitched tones
Wind rushing at my eyes through this cramped cave of existence
Worrying the pictures off their hooks, calling something incomprehensible to my ear or my bones but it shakes them all the same in their sockets
Deep cracks forming in the pavement to let the water through and the people who enjoy being beaten
Or just want to feel something different, I do, but I use different methods
Hallucinations of poets do the trick
And great nude statues in London of the mayor and the common man
Wandering alone, parks full of trees and grass
Or just drinking coffee in a nice little place on the corner
Or stealing food from market stalls in the morning to last until the next morning
While their families’ sit at home watching television for hours without talking
My words were ignored my insecurities realised but I never gave up
Rushed forward quickly not looking over my shoulder because if I did it would get me
My own mind self-loathing dark and lonely so I went forward quickly as far as I could and rambled on loudly to whoever would listen
Until I reached my destination of murder and grapnel, plenty of dark images to keep me company on this raft and paper, plenty of that too
Sitting cross-legged on hard pebbles smooth but hard trying to collect too many thoughts in these thin arms
And going over and over huge towering slatted roofs that seem weakened by claws
And the burden of so many eyes

[Silas Thorne]

There's some fine lines in here, but I can't help feeling lost among all the separate images. Why the murder and grapnel if you want to feel something different through the hallucinations of poets and other things? What words could be ignored if you were dreaming? I want to see this as more than automatic writing, but feel it lacks coherence.

[breathtest]

Thanks for reading it Silas Thorne and commenting. To be honest though, i don't think i would really count this as poetry, it was just sort of some late night ramblings more than anything.

[qimissung]

This is my favorite line: "trying to collect to many thoughts in these thin arms..."

You hae a gift for the surreal. Use it, hone it, and it will serve you well.