Proper Followers

Friday, January 25, 2013

High up outside the mountain chalet
the snow falls for long hours every day
I wish I had a real boy to help me
says the puppet-maker tugging at my strings

I wish I was a real boy I reply
but the puppet-maker can't hear me
he takes a chisel and shaves my face
with a soft brush and rouge he paints my lips

If you could walk you'd be a real boy
he stands me up like a new born donkey
he closes my eyes and makes a wish
I can talk listen to me I can walk look at me

Thursday, January 17, 2013



When fifty-five to midnight strikes
the second hand tock-ticks
and everything goes backwards
even the bloody film
but they don't care
just standing there
they've been there a long time too
six feet under in the wood
they'd push up daisies if they could.
But after-morning never seems to change
it always wants to stay the same.
And my guru say's
'hey, it's just like it was
a thousand years ago.'
An' Yestermorrow is just one eternal day.