Tuesday, 22 March 2011

Happy Place Trespassing

Happy Place Trespassing.

I have a fondness for a place where nothing happens,
Only the elements make industry -
If industry should be sought.

I have a craving for a place,
Just far enough from madding crowd,
To build a fire defying chase,
No human power can move me now.

I have a longing to see my name in stone,
In the bark and shattered in the old quarry,
The places that will never change:
Within my life.

This burn, I remember, from hole in the ground.
The day, I remember, smell/sound.
Nothing mattered,
All burning stick
And insects watching wind
And damning streams, throwing thoughts
And hitting dreams, missing Bullseye,
Splitting seams and
SOARing in the clouds.

A place, the bliss of being there dictates,
I’ve done things wrong, made mistakes,
While I’m aware that I have the right to be,
And I will/do not transgress.

There are some places I probably shouldn’t go,
But don’t desire to care
As the first,
My parent, serenity, hound, which owns,
The place which is dangerous,
Now and then.

I have a fondness for a place,
Where strange bodies violate
The sanctity of my singularity
And scored across the quarry wall, “Rab Jones is a Dickhead.”

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