Wicked Rhyme

7.19am

I abandoned their dire dungeon and residence around seven in the morning with an outlandish aura caressing my mental, then stood motionless for but an hour for no particular reason beside their decadent balcony.  Then returned to sneak a peak through the lounge window to witness the spiders resurgence on a more comprehensive scale than previous.  Now armed with heavy artillery to humiliate their former oppressors to drape minus their dignity from the precarious chandeliers above the oodles of dancing spiders deviating saltation.  Bopping and  twisting themselves into a frenzy, but without the music, just a deft percussionist to stimulate their momentum. Not my problem as I simply left to embrace Christianity for a second time, seek solace, forgiveness and to confess my sins to a total stranger dressed in black.  He venomously dismissed my confessions as ridiculous, as if personally aggrieved.  So I knelt alone in the pew and penned another rhyme...

 Time To Kill

The head hurts
the brain cells rock
your sagacity simmers then bubbles nefariously
the terra firma stirs beneath your rostrum
gapes and invites your infernal admission
the eyes focus independently
the body reeks, frail, resigned and unstable
your once natural functions....
....are now an awkward and conscientious impediment
the medication sucks
and your limbs languish idle
either side your malnourished paunch
as the top lip quibbles
and the bottom lip dribbles
A wheelchair and catheter await you....
..aside some callous nanny
the love of your life betrays you
the clock stagnates
There's a hole in your pocket
your currency cascades at the feet of impoverished pubescents
reluctant to relinquish their prevalent opulence
and so react aggressively to your legitimate confrontation
The cold, raw night permeates your irregular tranquility
low life scum await your transmission in a dark alcove
armed to the teeth and desperate for your premium
there's a gun trained on you by some sad high school dropout
perched on the blocks sixth floor balcony
a gang of fascists stalk you with bellicose mannerisms
a brusque old woman jars you, turns
... then glares back in defiance behind thick spectacles and extensive folds
the wind tosses your fragile shell like a turbulent zeppelin.......possibly
the boys in blue shadow your every move through stained glass windows
the love of your life detains you
the clock accelerates
You're happy to parade in female apparel
but the high heels are crippling and cramping your style
with lipstick smeared across that contorted face as you brave the flourescent williwaw
you've hacked a nail whilst defending your honour
as kiddies giggle, heckle and jeer 'till their throats are dry, sore and bloody
and their midriffs wrench as they loose control of any puerile perception they still retain
see they straddle the inert jalopies and perpendicular malarkey containers
with an unlimited infinite rictus smeared across their vacant visage
Oh and your stockings are laddered from thigh to fibula.......'Oh what a drag'  she said!
you're clutching an empty whisky bottle as you slur your vocabulary
and totter the nocturnal alley for business as daddy calls from within his baroque mausoleum
the love of your life defames you
the clock palpitates
The tower above is fragmenting before your nebulous eyes
citizens race and pace like ants in turmoil
you wish to evacuate, but your body refuses to decode your decree
a stranger hoists and conveys you to relative safety
then drops you awkwardly and returns to party
your back pain renaissance returns with a vengeance
you gaze up to the blood red sky awaiting due assistance
and hanker God's remedial intervention
......but not so..........or not today at least
a local gang called 'piranha' loom large overhead you like beasts of prey
admiring your pretty things as they circle your yielding frame
The Lords Prayers lyrics hold no substance at this time or place
the love of your life impales you
the clock disintegrates.
Take me I'm yours

7.54am

Apathy besieged my propensity as I napped instinctively, yet woke embroilled 'neath the generous but reticent embrace of some studious nun as an exact duplicate pensively deliberated by the chapel's vast pipe organ beside the altar,  I beseiged the depths of my conscious to recall our previous acquaintance and then recollected our Regent Park conclave as they did too. A holy hand dug deep enough within my secret garment compartment as I hotched then shimmied in denial.  There a script was fleeced as an intense struggle manifested, fell and nestled at the base of the inquisitive Sister Superior.  She paced and perused in horror of my phrenetic dexterity and conclusively dispersed my presence without explanation, but still managed to administer a parting kick as I spilled their lilliputian exit.  Now privately garrulous they preferred to retain my ostensibly barbarous script, yet covertly smiled and scrummaged like behemoth rooks to gaze its conclusion as I braved the turbulent terrain.....

A Woman Scorned

She marched him past the station
with one arm up his back
then watched him crumble in a heap
with major heart attack
She puckered to revive him
then watched him rise again
then clamped him in a headlock
and marched him back again
The captain and the stewards refused to intervene
but stated to the press it was the best they'd ever seen
he's now refusing solids
just liquids from a straw
she caught him with his trousers down
he won't do that no more
she's taking voodoo lessons
he hasn't shown regret
she's carving out a doll of him
she hasn't finished yet.

                                                             AND THEN:   http://www.wickedrhyme.com/draft6.htm