DIRTY LAUNDRY DRAPES HER PATHETIC HEAD.

DIRTY LAUNDRY DRAPES HER PATHETIC HEAD.-Written by Taylor John.

I Close My Eyes (Song).
V.1
I close my eyes – for, the pretty girl – I see;
Her hands – so, young – young, like me.
I’ve got – the wild cat – as, a charm;
Likes – her, lonely wounds licked: she – does alarm!

Chorus
I close my eyes – for, the pretty girl – I see;
Her hands – so, young – young, like me.

V.2
Hey – little birds, in the trees – are, heard;
The cool winds’ breeze – her, words..
..They fall – with, the fallen angels plea;
And, birth – with, the good Lord’s deed.

Chorus
I close my eyes – for, the pretty girl – I see;
Her hands – so, young – young, like me.

V.3
Yeah – I am, fed – but, I am wed;
Is all – calm? Have – the devils, made it – to, bed?
I must – apologize – for, we – are, undone;
With Thee – as, we – lay, in the sun!

Chorus
I close my eyes – for, the pretty girl – I see;
Her hands – so, young – young, like me.

V.4
The charm – is, in – her, arm;
The cat – is, on – her, back;
She’s working – on, that – graveyard shift:
Shit – there, aren’t – no, coming back!

Where – all, is torn – and, seems – so,
Seemingly:
Oh – me-o-my – my,
Honeybee.

Chorus
I close my eyes – for, the pretty girl – I see;
Her hands – so, young – young, like me.

Junk.
(I) Listen to, Junkies – with, a veil – of, wine – I hold; hands – on, the mirrored glass – of, cold sayings (I have, hold); Memories – of, her smoky room : take me – as, dew – on, the vine? (Witches – I aren’t dressed, for; all – the honey’s – that, you scold in, time!) of – bliss – brokenhearted: whether – you, so bold?

Gonna’ Say It Aren’t So.
Gonna’ say, it aren’t so;
Gonna’ sing, from thy soul:
Ache, love, hate, hear-l.

Gonna’ say, it aren’t so;
Gonna’ sing, from thy school:
Ache, love, hate, heal.

I Would Loathe To See You Dead.
I would loathe to see u dead : u aren’t no sparrow – u r (yet loved) – but, the show..?

Respect – is the knowing, and the unknowing.

Mayhem – the urge, to walk in the darkness.

Don’t ever – throw away, your notations: your bliss, your dew; ugliness – is thy feet – of which, is due.

When – push – comes, to die ; there’s, so many problems – there’s, so many lies..

Love – aches, but seeps through; is due – without, complaint?

Down To The Fig-Tree Parlour.
Hangin’ on tha’ rig, of her hips – are, arbour;
Now – down, to the fig-tree parlour..

Hunch.
Breakfast, morning tea, lunch, and her recipes’ crunch – I drink alone, for Socrates’ hunch…munch…munch…munch!

Denial Is Tha’ Bitter One Blue.
Today – I, really believe
Wisdom – has, its’ tolerance
Levels to consider?
Does – that, make
Us, humble – or, more
Distant?
Either, or – neither,
Perhaps: life –
Meant, to be complicated.

A Woman’s Hold.
Bread (alternation)…Bread (alternation)…Bread (alternation)…Bread (alternation – cushion?)

Don’t flatter yourself – flatter yourself, in one’s ear? Though, seems like you are, the winner – and he, the murdered deer…

Yeah – the dear, wife’s there: we, are gonna make some children? Oh, so loud and clear – the, dirty hands of war – do, grin?

In – gardening: mindful – of, insects : are, my words – enough, my love? Are – my words, old English grub? Wake thee, in the moment – my dove; wake thee – in, our mourning; drink thee – in, our wasted Flood..

Hysteria’s Last Goodbye.
Goodbye – lie-eyes: where’s, the woman – in, me’ eyes?

(But, if he be – a, married man: would, she marry – he; if – he, were a single man – if, he could only dream?)

A cover – a, coloured wound : she – aches, for only herself (or, does she?) Wake – me, in the morning – with, rose-petals on my bed; wake, sweet angel – give, this man his last breath; speak – sweet angel – and, draw – patterns, on my sheets: freak – dear angel – sweet, pathways – to, love..

Dirty Laundry Drapes Her Pathetic Head.
Dirty laundry – drapes, her pathetic head: on –
My souls’, shabby bed : (where –
Are, those – lovers, gone?)

(Oh, what – a monster, I
Have become!
Oh, what – Heart: she –
Most, graciously – owns;
And, sang!

Ka-Plunky.
I, awoke – at, a quarter to six: where –
Awaiting, was a most brilliant talent:
The mighty wind – so, gallant; (from,
Each benevolent cousin?)

(Where, art – Waldo?
Where, art – what, do:
Ka-plunky?)

Slick Bitches’ Glimmer.
Addiction – drags,
This mans’ fake curfew: (why –
He, is old – and,
Untouchable?)

Darker – than, ever:
He – shines, a light;
(Were – all,
The bitchin’ – free..?)

When You Undress.
When – you, undress: her – the woman : with,
Eyes – teasing, O Lust;
Her, perfect sorted nest – bust:
Thy – perfect, complaint?

(Leave, him – to, his words: ‘coz –
He’s, drunk – and, got
A beard!)

I’ve, left town; and –
It’s, a fine mystique lot:
I, had to?
(Well – I’m, on,
The spot;
Well – I’m,
A spider,
In – a, pot?)

Oh, her laugh – it,
That is, a pleasure to hear;
The smile – it,
That is broken of fear:
(O Sight – her, fight – is,
Safe!)

Thus – it, is of Lust – I,
Cloak: of, a long – rightful,
Quest – of, belonging – spoke:
Hear me – o my princess – for,
My heart, is awaiting – in,
A songbirds’ chest!

The dear, songbirds’ laughing – at,
Me – and, the junkie: word –
O word – guest,
To funky;
Maestros’ tongue – like,
A monkey?

Word – O Word – is it,
Notelet?
(O poor – O poor – diddims’
Dumpy?)

A tea – for, a garment;
O clay – of, who’s mess;
Diet – for, each body;
Ruler – for, who’s test?

She – is, thinking: the symmetry – of,
Line: are you –
Being – addressed?
Taste, it – test:

At, heists’ layman rest;
At, birds’ humble nest;
At, Loves’ bigger breast?

(Oh, there, there – I will,
Guard – the fort:
The dinner – gladly,
Sport!)

(Hang on – my, spoiled Limb:
O Heart : when – you,
Undress – her,
The woman..)

©Taylor John, 2017.

2 thoughts on “DIRTY LAUNDRY DRAPES HER PATHETIC HEAD.

  1. Mark, I try to question what I go through in life, as one with a passion and a sense of importance of deed – that, I ask of my writing. We, all have points of brilliance. I guess, that we all – in, our own interest in words – at least, try to be raw and honest as we can, in order to achieve the drive – to, at least further our talent, and obtain a sense of immortality? And, it – in, being enough – for, one to start yet another line? Mark, thank you for your comment. Bless ya’.

  2. Taylor J, you might be mad. I think there are touches of brilliance in your work. You ask the question (i paraphrase) : will i be read – only after, when i’m dead. Maybe. Like Hopkins – a difficult poet, like you.

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