Category: surrealism
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Gold is colour of spliced rope.
You can leave me here by this rusted chiming bell but I will not stay … I’m right behind you, all the way. You can leave me here, by this thick green canal but i will not stay I’m right behind you all the way. You can leave me here by this empty fire engine…
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Two.
Two is a number for animals in the ark For opposites man and wife, red and green How many more pairs locked in dynamic, political, opposing, polarity, unable to break free, Are going to whirl through the universe until they are split, must there be?
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Nonsense
Nonsense Running headlong into oblivion – no suckers on me Its another reason to do the websites They’ll go on night and day… All this naked, landlocked teaching, this hyperbol, mysterious swiss cheese catapult madness on the back of a clothes horse no honey for me today says the itcher , his twitching fingertips unavailable…
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Dragging my daisy chain behind me.
Dragging my daisy chain behind me, (a mottled, star-struck daisy-chain as it happens). A daisy chain that literally jumps for joy with every signal sent by wire from the poor man on his pale blue mountain top, as a petrified sun drops agonizingly beneath a blotchy, mottled horizon.
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Crazy families.
Crazy family – torn – twisted – shattered – moving from b to a – a humdrum rigourmortis in my promise redeemed – my cortizan discourtous collosal caravan – wrung out of dream less sleep – dreamless sleepless agony oceans of happy dreams oceans of oilslick of angry young fiends
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Garbage exposed at 3.00am in the morning: a rattling, tri-barrelled, rolling, obscure, happy-go-lucky, pernickity, puzzled, ,switch-blade-wielding garbage, with a knowing smile on its face.
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The Eagle and me.
I CATCH THE CREVICE WITH MY RIGHT HAND FINGERS – and swing out, over the abyss – only the accompaning squeal of an eagle distracts me from the hilarious height. And he has other problems.
Tony Chapman-Art Music Writing 