1. Sorrow

    Colder than your fourth dimension,
    these red-raw legs trudge through the ice;
    empty stomach, empty mind,
    survival.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

     
  2. Can you

    Round and round
    and round we go.
    Draw it out, draw it out,
    round and round again.
    One shake, two shakes,
    three shakes more.
    Round and round,
    draw it out and dwell.
    Then the shaking
    turns to quaking,
    that’s the end.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

     
  3. Hidden in a cereal box

    The Universe does not exist
    in which we are and be and is
    it’s merely holographic face
    of what was real but now as trace;
    though radio still skates and plays
    illusions of the wait for they
    who also know this isn’t true,
    may find us though they know our fate.


    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

     
  4. Escape the trap

    Stop being so realistic,
    it’s making us sick.
    Like we can’t do
    all the things that we think.
    But then you tell us
    that the world is changing,
    that we’re global at heart;
    when at the same time
    you’re telling us to smother the spark.
    As if a nice idea
    was a dangerous thing,
    we’ve all made mistakes
    and many make them again.
    But if we don’t dream
    we don’t stream,
    we just buffer;
    which we all hate
    so let’s think free,
    believe, and discover.


    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

     
  5. Autumn dragons

    It’s cold now the chill’s here,
    greys mixed in dark blues;
    crisp air cuts at raw throats,
    lends itself to exhalation
    when the time comes.

    And when the time comes,
    oh, when the time comes;
    it appears like a cloud
    made of fine mist,
    your soul’s smoke.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

     
  6. To not be or not to not be

    Don’t need to be what not you are
    to know what not you aren’t
    or be what you were.

    Don’t need to be what else they ain’t
    or be not quite what they weren’t
    if they were or not.

    Don’t need to be what it is you’re not
    to be not known for nothing
    is most meaningless.


    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

     
  7. Losing’s wasted hours

    Ran a bath
    but let it cold.
    No energy
    to sit in stillness
    now.
    I’d rather
    pour my soul
    out to
    hundreds
    I don’t know.

    I’m abbreviated,
    I’m not inebriated.
    I’m alleviated.
    You won’t ever
    cut me down.

    Ironed out
    at last my dream;
    saw it whither
    in the steam,
    rising.
    Passing by
    my face
    as air.
    It’s over
    now I’m done.

    All that hope
    that’s left unsung.
    Hours pass
    but nothing’s won.


    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

     
  8. Cold coming on

    Twist me
    spin the juices
    from the skin
    let the bitterness
    down
    to glasses
    full of ice-cold shandy
    which abbreviate
    my downfall
    surely as if they
    were commas
    dropped in Everglades
    for the alligators
    to polish off

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

     
  9. Flowers, roses they say

    Was it ever worth it?
    Your biological indulgence
    and your pride.

    Some goal, they reinforced
    with a world of expectation
    and an attitude of delirium.

    But it’s not even the point,
    and it’s not even the thing you need.
    It’s not the thing you crave the most.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

     
  10. It’s all relative, I know

    Just as the melody destroys you
    so will the Earth
    fold itself upon you
    and tears will become glue.

    Trusted my face to turn me into the sunshine,
    but I should have turned instead with your shadow
    as a proxy
    for my own ideal of truth.

    This is some fifth dimension,
    some primordial expression
    of the only the hope I have.

    As trust blinds mortals with indecision
    so words surround me and cloud my vision.
    But it’s no starred story,
    it’s a long drag.
    It’s a killing field of emotion.

    Well it does not mean a thing,
    as all we are whining, whining
    and privileged.
    Under the sun we cry,
    but we would cry anyway.
    Wherever we were.

    Surround me
    with your blank expression
    I need your face
    in my direct vision.

    And I can’t breathe,
    and I can’t step closer
    to reality
    before I have that sight in my eyes.

    Waiting on the end game,
    as time ticks by.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014