Wound-Brains & Heart-Strings

I Suppose It's My Fault For Giving My Wounds Brains...
& My Heart; Strings.


This is my mountain.
Sun trap,      Day dream,        Bowl of green veg        with forks pertruding.
Pouring out...
my P r a n a .
Oh!
the
slime
of
my
porridge
brain
and my oatcake heart
These days no strawberry tart.

Pick the grapes from my veins
Roll
            Them
            over your
                          tongue;
my precious marbles
Mothers instructions:never loose them
But they were never ever mine to keep,
Only she will weep.

The Little Velvet Bag where I kept my teeth
I'd twisted out for Vampire fangs.
...& fairies in the night; with sparkling grins and Prada slippers
; stern little tax collector-ettes
Somewhere up in la-la-land placing bets
That cost daddy a small fortune.

I looked upward at this LegoLand and...
----
Sister intervened! with her decapitated Barbie Dolls
Barbie wearing her infidelity on her neck; scarlet letters:
Compliments from Action Man - but Action was more interesting
Than Ken with his knowledge of hairstyles and fashion foibles.
Fumbling with my bottom lip - where is my audacity now?
Shall I tip-toe, or fall
                                  T
                                                U
                                                              M
                                                              B
                                                                L
                                                                      I
                                                                              N
                                                                            G

to the bottom of this mighty hill.
I have a name for every blade of grass; sheep I counted…
Maybe it's the colours and shapes behind my lids
Or the internal, interweaving soliloquy that's made me
Passive…? And almost happy.

Maybe I'm a witch today,
The herbal midnight snack b-b-b-bubbling lethargic cynicism
And light-hearted fear.
But ‘Madame’, she squints and says me to me
The book tricked you, winked at your naivete
Who says you "can't kid a kidder"?
Kicking K fell asleep on an L-shaped couch
After a few too many...
The madman's staff in her hand said:

ha! you got me.

Nothing is making sense now, everything does not make sense said the King of Nonsense-Kind

& we... dumb and pure, applauded hysterically.