Brashmania Creatina Polyvergo : Lozi's Poetry

The stars are love
they hold the earth
and in the saucepan constellation-
there, i see it.
Glinting overhead
i'm in my bed instead, no really
actually i think you'll find my brain has
gone back
remembering...

Underneath a french lunar sphere
us in groups
or pairs
(it varied)
sunning each other from the afternoons rays
drinking alcohol
oh so much alcohol
and ipod cd sounds
(mainly humour)
above, itching by the field spider crickets
the sparkling stars are love
in their saucepan constellation,
my reference
to that moment with a leeds boy
who smelled of summer
and saved my life.

 

Dormant like a bunch of cellulite lovers,
up to here in cake and ginger beer from Spar.
We, the angel people
with our spiralled accents,
play the parts of blurred youths
the blurred friendship lines fizzle out-
oh wait where did the line go?
He scrubbed it out in subtle words
"it's ok dawl, och the wee while shall the quine and i dance?"
That sort of makeout fest
i tried to ignore/avoid
it's so easy without the alcohol.
I suppose that person who said boys cannot be friends with girls,
for the confusion of hormones and sex always kicks in
when one soul is lonely
and then both
their lonely hearts sink to their lower organs.

Interspersed hugs
similar to slug intercourse
(did you see the discovery channel last week?)
-swirling in fluorescent goo
those houseless snails twirl about the air...

But i digress
when the real issue of the matter is
the matter with me.
No control
control
control
lack of control
and the overall verdict is:
Not quite a dry hump with clothes on.
sucked to the tree

 

Shameless oh so shameless
wielding tart you sit yourself down
behind the altar
staring into the bread as it's broken.
Sontag brings its halfcaste eyes to my life
which witch are you today i wonder?
Everyone is mindgasping
tsk tsk
sinner, such a sinner
in your drunken student world
(though singing praises to a God you're ignoring)
How dare you?!
What sordid right have you to fake a false love?
The dispersing angelic eyes,
they're not real
they're not real!
Blinking
they have more life to tell, or death perhaps
How i hate myself, sometimes.
And at others...mild disgust.
Such a dirty child in
a metaphorical lifesmock
of jice and mud.

Only 19.

Yeah.

But still now
i depise everything i touch,
do,
say
breathe
i barely breathe a breath of fresh air.
Yet still a nonsmoker
i daresay if i was a 'proper' christian smoker
i would feel cleaner than i do now.

One cry for help would be enough
if my pride
(or my selfpity)
left.

Locked below the surface
that-
"my heart" she pointed out
"It's still beating, so still loving"
how can i believe the cynics?
They, who torment and batter down the pub doors
spilling the liquid hate into the streets
whilst the snow melts and rains away
the putrid filth.
Today,
i have to decide
who i am.

 

In a silent room, the mystery
explains the heavy air
Not there not there
In a violent wave, the history
engages heavy air-
while us
and them

both entertwining, vicious
(ogden eyes)
The spies
that weave, the dream
beyond its fantasising wakefilled hours
days go by and pass like flowers die,
i cry
i cry
while us
and them drown,
bitter tears escape away
and unmade beds spin through
the day devours.

 

Oh man i fly against the sun with its willow glare
i stare and saunter by the worlds shorter hillock, mmm wild eyed monkey child you wish upon one star gone for a walk perhaps?
I guess, am guessing, was guessing perhaps that this everlasting gobshite was enough to hear the screaming in my head: always the eversounding screaming, resounding when i found the empty-





-ness

 

such an idiot such an idiot
such an idiot such an idiot

morose minger with your greasy hair
such a psychotic idiot
with your foul halitosis
whether metaphorical or real

every typo frustrates
every castrating mistake
such an idiot
whilst the negativity builds

and the sciccors...scissors look inviting
with their silky blades
and effervescent
edges

you're such an idiot
a morose idiot
your ideas may be good
but
but

um
where have you gone to

when you hurt every person

and realise the bottom of the barrel is empty.
shake away
but there's nothing left.

 

Make me laugh like you used to
oh snowman with your wintery glare,
when the snowset sun set over heed i glance at you in glory.
you face me with a whistlestop smile
and in the white
you
stop to whisper my name to the wind.
careful with every breath
you take,
every morsel of fibre
in your being-how do you break the scented silence.
incense and cinnamon trees
that pine for an everlasting love.
But still the milk goes sour
and the cookies crumble.
Father christmas rarely comes anymore.

Cellophane secrest
wrapped up in a look, oh, but how i occasionally
peep

-at each solitary package
the presents matter
i, with such another as you
with your wallet of worth
not an inch of the world are you,
seemingly golden,
but not from sunlight.

The horded gleams whisking me
away from each silvery day that goes by.
When i cry, you sometimes hear me.
Outside my windowsill(the first floor)
You creep and crunch over the sludgy gravel,
but he doesnt care,
not much anyway.

And in time in time dear,
i dream, i dream of you
in some foreign field
that is forever narnia.
A land of iced fantasies-in a milkyway of intoxication.
High in a talent of amorous features,
the perfect world blanketed,
in a duvet of beauty.
Then i hold your hand and,
sometimes
we sit up at the stars,
underneath a heavy pine tree.


But waking hours come so quickly,
nowadays.

 

That piece of porcelain,
yellow'd smile that daunts me
yet i hold to what i said before, ya know?
That past thing i forgot to mention?
Oh i guess you have misremembered, but i haven't...
Your satin eyes-wallowing sorrow
and those crooked teeth
(the forementioned yellow)
How they barely touch each other man i was supposed to say
'all these pretty moments' about your face
there is only your face left to memory for
all your beauty was not beauty,
but anechoic chambers of cloned looks
That toned body-muscular like the stars
Those tense arms that screamed speed and loser days in gym.
Oh and what a smell, a scent that wasn't Lynx, but
what was it?
The human fragrance of beauty?
Your hair, so soft. Curly. And that's it.

All gone to pot i forgot. Those empty aspires, atributes i mean.
Packing in the seams of the floating nose that can't decided where to go.
That was you,
and that was enough.

 

Bacon is better than Gravy
you said that to me anyway
so i agreed to taste your bewitched supper of the day.
ha!
what a ravaged mess you make of my life dear.
the leek said to the ladel.
Leeks and ladels dont mix,
someone else ran off with the best friends neighbours cat.
hm, soup or soap of the day, how very droll.

I found a jellybean on the floor today. From texas, no less...no more either. Just cinnamon,
red flavour flavor

i have no wish to make a tale of woe to you dear reader
but to froewarn you of the dangers of dihydrogen monoxide.
The corrosion of the earth is aided by it,
if breathed in
it can choke.
Speeds up blah blah blah reactions/

..ready punchline:it's water. *rolls eyes* so what?
But people are so gullible nowadays. what next?
people in space!

 

Benedicting smiles
half-catching glints of icy muses.
How now as they sew each fragrant pot
heads together in a sighing lap.

The ways, the ways of the happy poet.
He
(or she)
who waits to test the waters,
bloodred they may be as eroticism tends to flay.

Images of tender eyes
that pick a stale glare into the darkness.
Water finds the fiend with his
red
hot
lava lamp.
twisted shopping bag in his time-worn grasp.

Ten thrashes over
there is no devasting love to bemuse, me.
I have to dwell within the brain cells to catch my fading soul.

Words twisting this way and that
as we spy each violent arm.
It's pries the innocence away from
oh
that angelface with shying eyes,
who once gave money to a tramp
(he took his life by overdosing)
But she would never know
she would never know-
for every naive sentiment that she held
within her palm: a sacred flower.
No reason.
Just because.
Euphoria we called her-
the symbol of lost youth.

 

LOOKS LIKE RAIN TODAY

Looks like rain today,
and the sky is falling sideways.
Looks like rain today,
and there's never any clouds-
But still by Rose's sidewalk
sit anoraked men in puce
(with their labels and umbrellas out)
Never any fear
they doubt the weather will be sunny soon...

Hey the nighting hours,
with some starry, foreign whisper.
Hey the nighting hours,
with their evanescent song-
But still by Rose's sidewalk
sit the weather men in puce
(with their labels and telescopes out)
Never any fear
they doubt the darkness will devour them...

Umber setting, sun you are
the angel of my happy days.
Umber setting, sun you are
the captivating, noxious rays that taunt
/the weather men in puce/
that Rose's sidewalk used to sing-
(with assorted, cling-filmed sandwiches)
Never any fear
as the moon hangs overhead.




by Lozi Bolton

 

I hold the thought of you
close to my aching heart.
That careful melody
perhaps the remedy to lost love?
Who knows,
who cares
you seem to, oh
such emo pain i suggest.
When fantasies of you lighten my spirits
i'm quick to explore
adventure my cure.
But oh how quickly the meaning fades,
and i hold everything but the kiss.

You broke that thought stream-
yes, it was you.
You
with your cherub face of haunting lust.
Those words you use around me,
they're not new.
I've heard them before.
"you're beautiful babe"
"i want to kiss your pain away babe"
"i love you babe"

the words just seem to run away
streaming through my finger sieve.
And all you end up as
is my inspiration.

 

SHE

SHE makes me hate every part of me.
i am satisfied with my personality
SHE labels it mental.
I become mental.
I try to find some other part of me to be happy about-
lets change my dress sense and create beautiful art.
SHE labels it mental
an act of a psychotic
SHe makes me hate myself.
Whether on purpose or not.
SHE is upset and angry because she doesn't understand me,
because i'm not like her.
"you have to CONFORM, FIT IN to get a job. a job is impoooortant!!!"
in angry tones mostly.
Mimicing in caracatures my attributes
SHE labels me mental
i experiment with my identity
SHE labels me mental
i won't communicate
SHE twists my words
and any thing i tell her about myself SHE uses for bait at
a later date.
SHE whinges and whiones at the smallest of things-toothpaste caps, mismatching colours. It all becomes a life or death vanity thing that MUST be fixed
I used to whinge
a bland ugly dork
shy shy shy
no art
no words
no colour
SHE dressed me in her personality
Everyone despised the negativity.
But then someone came along
some people came along
and opened my eyes to beauty and what
reality was
Reality for her was getting a job and a house with pale carpets and chandeliers and Ikea furniture in a suburban house.
Ugh.
And i became less like her.
How i loved being happy
Everyday she's breaking me.
SHE labels me mental,
and i hate myself more and more everyday.

 

Blind Dominance

And as i slip off to sleep there's him
waiting at the door
"come in sweetheart" he slimes his words
"come in dahhhlin'"

Me
somehow by another force
pulled, towards him
a sea of kissed and being kissed by this
slightly taller dominater.
The ghastly moment takes me as i steadily hate myself more

and more
crawling jumping under the covers
"there's others in the room so shh"
He covers my mouth to stop the noise
i can't go on i can't go on
my mouth is dry and
i'd rather not say.
no words i can't say stop
i'm frozen in a non-rape situation.
With our naked bodies intertwining
(mine unsure but his aligned)
a flash of blinding forgetfulness
/you know, how ultimate lust makes you disappear?
torn from my brain my body is writhing...




heavy breathing
beaded sweat
still
still
disgusted

 

Rancid Myths​

Critically, you.
You, with a smug uncomfortable grin,
as you stutter unfortunate words.
"I'm sorry"
"let's be friends"
"i think of you more as a sister.."

Come on!
We've all done it before.
That untimely phrase in which the day
misplaces your heart
(and someone elses too).
It's not your fault your too damn ugly
It just happened
as your brain picks out your negative points
the paranoia sets in
He's still talking
"awkward awkward awkward"
that's all you hear
(though the words are different.)
"I want some alone time"
'yeah alone time with some other chick. one with bigger boobs no doubt(and a thinner waistline)'

You've stolen some piece of me
that piece that laughed and knew how to live.
Like some piece of my heart is
missing
(if i still believed i ever had one/or you for that matter)
Gah and your smile
when you're with her,
that new girl.
Frocks and all, she's much hotter and thinner than me.
My hoisin hips
compared with her lips are nothing.
Glazed dumplings for your devouring....
phallibility.

I half feel sorry for the creature
maybe i should, tell her?
..you know, about the rancid myth you create
as you seem to caress you
in reality
suppress

 

Mellow Yellow

Puffs of angry jets twist
around the mellow haze,
that which angelic corpses suck.
Their days are numbered,
but do they care?
AS life is steadily
plucked
from their lungs.

SO soothing so soothing
each mending breath of fresh air,
drawn in like the last meal,
some heavy flume of gaseous death.
Its scent lingers,
like a predator upon its prey.
Today is their last,
though she doesn't know.
With her yellow glinting eyes,
and bruised eyebags.
There sits inside amongst the tarmac-
a ticking time bomb,
belike a benign tumour, not sure.
Gone.
Many rellies cancerous,
but you saw no connection.
And down you go
in your skeleton dress(like some wilting rose)
whiffing past
in your mellow yellow haze.
Those were your days.

 

Rory​

Beauty turned into a strange butterfly,
with a wandering glycerine sigh
he picks up his implement-
laying his printing pen to page.
Intending, half-not, to describe love and hate
life and death
sudafed and molecular rhythms.
but all that comes out is a
st-st-st-stutter.

P-p-passing by a w-word tries to
f-f-fffffffffhp
fhhhhhp
fhhhhhsp....

spread its wings and
fllllllll-....flllll-....fllll-
soar above the ground and
turn his front to forward clouds.
They fl-....bob about the angelic world...
hmm
FLYINGFLOATINGFLIPPINGFLORAFLIPPANTFLACKING

ever sifting mindblock freed.
It takes a second...
to settle.
​

 

Daily Dwarfish Days

Guarding by the yellow hedge,
a boy at sevens lights a torch.
Bent in frustrated gates, the boy
merely 7 runs by the futile ledge.
His face a tortilla,
and toes as onion sticks..
oh the time that waits a while
the honoured faeries
dancing
undergrowth throbbing
in the solstice air.

Gloom penetrates sunbeams beaming beam.
Gone
away with the wind
we sit and stare at the fuscia glare,
whilst the little boy
(halfling of a cuter nature)
whisks a herbal pancake in a stone bowl.
He, giggling at the sunrise
mushroom in a pie of grass,
at last-
the yellow hedge diminishes.
Dwarf child cares to share his tea
with a passing rabbit.

 

Not Life or Death

Strange apocalyptic wind,
it reminds me of the wizard of oz..
but a conceited, real version.
How dear the earth and weather coincide..

Limp
lifeless streams of muddy rivulets.
Shocked
News teams with endless words and
floral helicopters.

Gathered poor and 'minorities'.
Settling for a flooded pit of oozing loss,
the death and hurt and destruction
sweeps

and continues

but still the authorities and
powers that be
do not cease the fake sympathy
as they pretend to care
and make it look like they're helping.

It's all about politics now.
Not life or death.

 

Dragonfly

Minty sea that waved along
whilst I in our mellow boat of twine-
sat beneath an apple sky.
Its fellow stars hidden by a blazen blue,
you, in all your physical attire
3 cornered hat and a coroners coat,
blackened by the drips of tar.

At the waters edge, crusty granules
of crystal sea salt,
try to chug the ships course.
Winding downwards in a spiral of nauticism,
we burn the trail behind
as light as air,
we whisk along.
Our 'Dragonfly'.
Merrily she sails
as gales give way to a stormy haze.
The hatches locked,
we've come a-cropper on a strange isle.

A sort of horizen
A sort of rim
Its mountainous vales beckon us in.
Beyond the foreign eyes that watch us,
a smokey beam of red and green gives way-
as its size grows and grows
and grows and grows

This lizard being,
being in flight,
oh dragon
a plight that takes our breath away.
Below,
burnt grass.
And we,
on watered glass...
sit waiting for this wild animal
to take us home-
in time for dinner.​