Stir Lion Fries

 Old stream of consciousness ramble from the early half of Covid that I just found in a dilapidated notebook and typed up...


Wild-eyed, stir-frying lies in pan
No mind left, just a lost thought, man
I've set out to sea, to see my ship will never touch land
This sure as hell ain't the journey I planned.

Loose demands from a man's unconscious
grasping on to lost songs and monsters
A flat melody with sunken chords grown despondent
I'm honoured to saunter through my mind's empty concert

Secret codes to undress, symbols hiding incest
while the world slides by, my ideas compress
into ingots of inspiration. Build my nest
stacking blacked-out ideas, re-constructing this mess

it's a maze in here, and I'm amazed how deranged
I can be when I break apart truths, rearranged
and replaced with the grace of lies so insane
that they prey on my conscience, all raunchy, aflame.

Only fools play by their rules, it's a shame
but I'll do anything if it means I can feel things again.
If I could, then perhaps I'd know this was pain
but my brain can't recall this, that, or my name.

Whence did the dice roll and fold into this game
where the losers win fame and the victor's unpaid?

Like the place that I find myself now,
under scrutiny, watched by the eyes of a crowd,
these observers are words, not yet matched with a sound
as they rest, unmanifest in my thoughts, so profound
in their silence, I'm convinced things are great
being lost in a corridor twisted with hate
it's a place that i've built with no exit in place
so why not rejoice in this violent taste?

It's a truth so uncouth that it hides from my eyes
never whispered to anyone, not the wistful nor wise
and this thought is concealed no matter how hard I try
to pry honesty out of my own heaving sighs

What then should men do, aside from despise
the mere thought of their props and their masks, their disguise?
Coats wrapped so tightly, cloaked in costumes of lies.

Nobody cries in the safety of my head
the screams of the ghosts are music to the dead
Where would you suggest I go instead?
To rest in someone else's R.E.M. riverbed?
The stream of life takes us all as it will
when the waters run high, overflowing and spilled
we can really begin to taste the face of God's will.

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