minima-B: 2008

Wednesday

aries, feather and clout

beyond belief but still believing.

time drifts now with a remorsless current.

a growing weight of inevitability.

pushing moments into a picture frame.

capturing so much more than nostalgia.

the moths hunt the flame.

the light calls us all.

light into the dark.

but not dark yet.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

Thursday

scent

driftwood time.

floral dresses and birdcall giggles.

cobweb fragile and spun.

of you.

and moments spent.

down in the dew and dusk.

fragrance captured memory.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

Tuesday

crowstone rising

treacle drips like crow black tar.

darkly secretive deeply secluded.

a mystery of whispers that bleeds night.

a lack of light.

a lack of white.

as thick as time and as slow as pain.

compost heavy.

tampax sodden.

silence corrupts beating ravens wings.

tick tock tick tock.

time rotates my heart.

a brood of baleful blood bats fly.

a flight of grave stone dread.

frost fingers constrict rubber throat.

breath crashes steel thread razorwire.

the dark crushes bow wing ribs.

life falls trembling into the pillowed pit.

the precocious fear of angels.

Do not forget to visit Fekenham Swarberry for your weekly village update
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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

Monday

Hi Boys and Girls!

I'm Cocaine Jesus.

Homo Sapien.
Homo Erectus.
Homo Superior.

Heterosexual but I love canines.

And felines.

My sexuality is my own business but I keep a clean house.

I am well disorganised.

I speak fluent gibberish on several continents.

I preach what I practise but without candor.

Do not believe everything that you hear.

I am streamlining my personal evolution.

No potions are available.

All options are viable.

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Do not forget to visit Fekenham Swarberry for your weekly village update

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

invisible

i am just a number on your payroll
just a digit on your screen
i am invisible
transparent as the glass that bears your name
silent as the hordes outside your factory gate
you can picture me in tweed and scarlet
you can picture me dressed as you want
as you inform me
as you conform me
i am invisible

Do not forget to visit Fekenham Swarberry for your weekly village update

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

Thursday

a belly full of bee's

It fills the lonely spaces with the hushed sound of a leaf falling.
A silence that is as white as porcelain.

China chalk. Feral fear.

I can only catch my breath in that void and hope.
For faith fails when something that big happens.
A belly full of bees swarming with a hypocrisy that scares.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

drift

the floor raises a rorschach that fits the mood.

a blood red demon cast in scratchy grain.

faces rise and flit above the coded skirting.

dark shadows dance the light into corners.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

november rip

from the grey of smoke
a nicotine finger
steals colours from the
november sky

and paints the ceiling

with an uncommon

reference point.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

failing latitudes

no love here only footprints in the snow.

a grey mist rises like a moving shroud.

a ghost shivers by a glassy pool.

tall grass whisper a dry sigh.

daylight decanters into dusk.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

collateral

the moon was a broken dog that floated at my feet.

a tail for tricks and the kickback rain to puddle.

the anointed air wept a mystery into the throats of roses.

neon climbed highrise and twisted the knotted air

into vague shapes like barbed wire cackling a witchy sound.

the hammer fist throb of a locomotive rushed the black

and backed it into piss pond door frames.

like a zoo cage.

like the stench of ages.

i caught a faint whiff of burning meat that hung threaded.

wax like and bogus. a mockery of food to the fools of booze.

catch the rattle of the milk float.

catch the rubber squeak of the paper boy as he perspires

his paper chase round past the rustle of the pig pen pigeons.

above and below.

towering and cowering.

stand the columns of cash in brash statements of concrete and...

hush, hush, here come the bipeds. bright and burnished.

facing the day down with a sense of being.

of being.

what?

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

paper...stone...

the cruelty of the situation was simple as it was blunt.
there was a million miles between them.
dull as a stone washed up on a beach of sharp shingle.
yet the stars don't have fingers long enough to reach.
even the dreamer, with his folded page of crap verse can smell paint.
some distances are greater than miles.
some.
but we all hang onto that fading shape don't we?
shadow plays from light given over to hope.
futile.
youth can bounce balls higher than the moon.
i can draw shapes with a pencil.
circles and squares.
but the ebb and flow of days lets nothing last like the curse of words.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

rise

i've been where the sodium greets the day.

heart locked tight for fitful dawn.

watched howling moon depart the sky.

splintered light paints orange cloud.

these are my moments.

these here and nows.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

the illuminating

rancid recall taints the scented asphalt a girly pink. like ladies frilly things. like a fresh lilly pond full of bulbous blue frogs croaking their spleen to the roaming moon.

a lovers letter sits waiting for the ink to dry but the paint still runs on the window sill. run paint run for your true love calls. calls the tune.

such a sly note. a slippery throat. a desperate coat.

a herd of horns fills the horizon with the sound of braying. call back the lone figure. the taunting echo of a woman whose dress rides thigh high over her cuban heeled boots.

they just don't make them like they used to.

too.

two.

da do do do.

do they?

glass house's pour their scorn onto the newley shorned heads of the grateful living and the blessed dead.

like slow honey it creeps over the mantle and drips onto the floor in a corruscating mass of illumination but the cupboards are dim.

the cupboards are drear and the secrets they hold in creased and folded packets from k-mart and wall-mart and the tarts of tesco grow pale and languid in the fungus grim dark. like the tales. the tales of two.

and one.

and none.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

mirror

corn husk and oatmeal.

the sad fields grew dew.

the light faded foal back and grey.

the morning no longer rose to gallop.

this was the ever lighting last.

the boy knew the equine heart.

the boy and the needles.

the boy and the soiled heart.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

touching (raven eye)

i lied when i said i love you.
i don't.
sorry.
i think that i was confusing affection with desire.
it all got mixed up.
i mean, i feel something for you but...
not love.
i really didn't mean to hurt you.
i still want to be friends.
more than that.
more than just friends.
but i can see from your eyes that you wanted more.
sometimes though, the warmth of two bodies touching is the most human act of compassion i can think of.

do you know what i mean?

sometimes.

just to feel that after warmth.

that closeness that only intimacy can bring.

sex gets in the way doesn't it?

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

erase pacer

caught you in the half light.

eyes lidded.

lizard skin lisping across the hard palace.

a frozen feature from a B movie.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

coneKt

in this world of strange connections,
people buy double glazing to belong.

polystyrenne and styrofoam.
i have got my cell phone on.

talk to no one, text to someone,
contact me via myspace.

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all words and art are copyright © of cocaine jesus.

august and

Warm winds tremble a single leaf. The sun hovers with a fierce composure. Its heat causes ripples on the surface of the world. A light dust coats things. Rocks. Plants. Trees. Thoughts.
Forever and a day this is how life here has been. A drought of uncertainty in a wealth of assurances.

repeat

another night of stagnant recall.
plumped pillows fold without a sound.
crease of duvet blank response.
silence in birdsong dawn.

the air crackles with an absence.

breathing in solitary air.

i miss your heartbeats rythm,

miss your teeth grinding dreams.

find no comfort in the shadeland,

find no release in my hand.

face

i paint my face with dirty memories,

inconclusive thoughts that mingle like litter with the leaves.

these dreams of then and was bring the blessings of nostalgia in a vague air.

topaz

she wore a bikini like a vague sun that brushed her flesh with a promise,

a holy kiss that blushed her skin and brought all doubts to a brief conclusion.

these were the days.

honey coated with a lick of sun and a memory to defy the passing of time.

falling

I fell down this hole in a spiral of mewling cats.

A cacophony of stars.

Blinking, blind and brilliant.

That spun a druid curse of vapour trail cloud.

Violence dressed in flowers.

Henchmen rode silver back snails

Over slate grey tiles cracked by age.

sunlight fled the scene like butter

dripping in a pulse of liquid confusion.

My heart felt the distant emotion

of unsatisfied yearning.

A bitter taste of lost salt that plied

my tongue with the heavy scent

of musk, of diamonds, of starlight.

Heaven felt like hell but hell was where the heart was.

Do not forget to visit Fekenham Swarberry for your weekly village update

free>>//and a half

a viable interlude in this most auspicious of times.

a chink of crystal. a touch of flesh. skin on skin. a dream web cast over california.

and who would deny the dreamer his dreams?

nothing is forever, not even theses digital crumbs.

cellophane

the games played are rare and swift.

better to remember the open hand than the closed fist.

to suffer little thought to think

but salve souls with the balm of reality.

everything has its price in this dull market place.

goblethe 1 & 2

calloused hands with blood torn knuckles left a strange patterned bruise upon my cheek.

a livid scar with a name and a history.

i have lived that history day after day

and now the myths of my making come back to haunt me.

002-49

it is not just the taste of the seaweed or the kelp but the salt on her lips proved to be an irresitible urge that flooded all sensations with a vital urgency

catch up on all the weeks events over at Fekenham Swarberry

carnival of freaks

he was only a spare part from a young mans dream. a youth who recoiled at the harness that society placed upon his shoulders. 'mother', he would ask, 'is it me?'

a smile would flit across her comely face.

'the world is full of oddities. make your life a carnival of freaks'

pica

she uses her tongue like shears snipping and slicing away the waste.

offal.

words and emotions that just spill out in plaintive confusion.

wounded sounds.

for her, every syllable matters. every word has to fall like a hammer blow.

every word has a purpose.

expletives rattle from her mouth in a rain of obscenity that crash down onto catholic heads

with a torrent of abuse.

she has no time for faith.

'try catching god in a wind sock' she would mock.

heat

crimson nights she brought me. long hues and driftwood hours.

wet limbs.

hungry hands.

solace found in moist moments

when the moon rises high and the wind twists another

shadow upon the watchful walls

Time to catch up on all the weeks events over at Fekenham Swarberry

stealth

i've bottled me up in green
where the insects never crawl.
there are maggots in the machine,
lifeless.
robotic.
they slide and chew and feast on.
humdrum in the cold heart.
but the roots trail below me.
dark and strong and hallowed.