Thursday 19 June 2014

Train

Jung dreamed of
a bull-horned
flying man
adorned with colourful wings
gliding over water
by the ship

He felt divine grace
when allowed God
to faeces on the church
within his infants
old-man
minds eye

He pitied Freud
when warned
against the rising
of
black-mud-tide
and built
small towns
from pebbles
and mortar
but shook his head
when she whispered
- this is art

I read his
memories
dreams
and reflections
on my daily
train ride
past carousal
to wash dishes
pots and
floors

I look up from the page
see
their faces
hear
their mouths
short
sharp
pain
left of temple

Now it's all about survival
watch this space
soon to run red
red
red

They have told me all about it
- screaming against the static
and walls of
painted suicides
Over the whisper
of the quiet
revolution

'Non fora ire, in interiore homine habitat veratis'
(Go not outside - truth dwells in the inner man)

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