The Loft

I converted my loft
For storage this June
And on its completion I connected
With this superior room

It seemed to forbear
All my deepest coverts
My second guess hang ups
My untimely immerse

The ladder it straddled
More than a pragamtic connection
It caused impersonal dialogue
And selective reflection

Some days I would loiter
At the foot of the round
Unable to lift
My shoe from the ground

Some days I would float
Past the rungs to the space
Where time moved in reciprocating motion
Around a locationless place

I kept the lights darkened
And the temperature low
Conditions conducive
To let myself go

To houses of strangers
Drinking into the night
With people I recognised
Through feelings not sight

Unbeknownst to my conscious
Cursed by intrigue overfed
I had morphed a world void
I was unhitched at the head

The hours were there
They left and came back
The colours collided
In rafter spaces of black

All sound was static
A tangible grout
That sealed my cranial spaces
No in and no out

The conversations I entered
The feelings I felt
Turned my skeleton languid
My muscles to melt

When emergence was done
And I true-visioned once more
I crawled back to the hatch
My ethereal door

As I lowered my carcass
Back to my old life again
I encomassed reality
A new phenomena of men

Sat there

Sat there

In the open air

On a chair

Without a care

No need to share

no soul to bear

It's fucking great

In my chair

There is nothing here for me

Ugly glamour

Vain deceit

Rapacious glutton

Blatant statement......... Of nothing

The Glitz, the glamour

The fashion, the fuss

The show, the sham

The face and the fraud

There is nothing I could want here


I did not invade your eyes with a brazen trick of the shade
I did not totter like a drunk on a skateboard passed your table


There is nothing to see here, come on move along, go home


I could not or would not know your sad little lies
I would probably weep if I saw behind your Rapunzel keep walls
You devour your day looking at reflections and paint
You can't see past the shaking brittle pink lace that engulfs
Yet if you asked another what or who they might be
A sad clown or a grey shadow could shake your world like a sneeze
You would lie blistered from the air that suddenly reached your new skin

There is nothing for me here

But you can't bring yourself to the surface
You're happy to drown, in the vinegar panstick that preserves
With your fat plastic tits and your hair tight as a drum
Shake off your naturality, and garb yourself technicolour
I'll try to be me as you try to be someone else

Together apart, looking one in and one out
Me me me, you you you

There really isn't anything here for me