Borderline Love Lyric 5

 

I.

Life is so much betternow

I've accepted it neverwill be good,

goodnow I don't expect to everfeel

Good Enough

to understand the stuff of Good Enough

enough to bluff Good Enough

good enough

for Good Enough

to be good enough

to make itself known

l/ Lady Godiva packin' heat.

Life & I are evenstephens,

now I'm resigned even in dreams' reruns

to my gaze stumbling at Godiva's puddlepruned 

tootsies, even tho' she's goodenough

to point her piece between my eyes.

 

Take the blame for the rain, go to your room

& sit & listen to its percussion

of fresh accusations, 30 billion fingers drumming

50% precipitation & 50% condemnation.

In my room , I reflect on all I've done

so that now Everything grieves Everything via a proxy sky,

Everything weeps for Everything forever

& then over Everythingelse for a poxy day.

My fault the Sun's eyeliner of fire did run.

My fault the Earth threw the Moon out of its pram.

My fault Noah's bath did overrun

& an innocent Yahweh was let go by Pimlico.

 

Life & I are not oddstods anymore,

our loggerheads are logged under the heading

'@timbernecks', now I begrudge the Good News

Jesus died for me slightly less. Indeed, he has my permssion

to perish for me a lot more

than a month of Good Fridays, make his ultimate fraudulent sacrifice 

999x l/ Deadpool's cat. 

I'm sure it was my vague sin

that was the straw as cumbersome as a camel's corpse,

giving the shoulder of the Redeemer

culminative gyp on the Via Dolorosa. 

Despondent in a sanguine fashion

about being the real Christkiller, 

but that's the way I roll 

- w/ the punches of scapegoated Jews 

(not the ones on the incorporated news).

 

II.

I find strength in the fact I will bend

l/ brownnoses on brownkneeses until I break

l/ a nirvana trump in the wilderness.

I find comfort in the knowledge

this state of mehvana promises 

bathos that will detach my detached smile,  

my teeth's tensegrity jerichoed

unto a lateritious tundra 

of important life lessons

in eight noble kickings. 

 

I find peace in the realisation

that the soughs & squalls of selfimprovement,

the right noises, will be squeezed out

by a Martian sandstorm 

of depersonalising selffulfilling prophecy.

Snakedance in bits, supine in pieces,

I dree my weird as a derobed yogi of debris,

Frank Siddhartha.

For now, as tears subside,

may I say, not in a shy way,

more, much more than this,

I've learned the hardway

is when falling in love

becomes a comorbidity

because you also make caseness

according to that DSM-5 jive. 

 

III.

So take it l/ a man, l/ Desperate Dan 

creamcowpied up his stubbly ironbutt

on Brokeback Mountain 

- on all fours first, then consent.

It's for the best I bookmark then bin 

my Mills & Boon bucketlist, 

won't bitterly tinker anymore of my own 

crash & vanity published

anthologies of that same selfeffacing joke,

endlessly reinventive selfharm stalled

l/ a bumnote Bowie w/ chameleon's block. 

Same same same punchline always a Borderline 

love lyric bickering w/ Fate

who cannot keep a

                 

       f            e 

            a c               

   s                    t     

     t                 h

         r  a i  g  

 

at allthepunsofthe 

unfair. O Bitchy McBitchfate, 

raking your sour coal blaze of reopened grapes,

you've won, I'll suffer on & on & on stoically schtumm, 

but I just wanna knowhowcome 

nothing should fall harsher

than a groan clown,

who's tried, goshknows, 

to turn his lower lineament of the damned upsidedown,

but never been caught w/ his

Calvin Klown pants down,

unforgiving of his own 

failure at playing the foolharder

in front of his witheringly notlooking

straightman, always a beautiful woman.

 

IV.

So it's cool, baby, cool,

that my prayer for love

goes the way of all such beggingletters to Big Daddy Nonsequitur:

nowhere. 

Sans God & sans gondola 

& sans protest & thus intakes of breath, 

I'll doggydoodoopaddle thru whatever Venice of pet disantary

Fate follows thru for me.   

Besides, that such an inexcrabapple stain as I,

such a scalding skidmark

hotmessed by Curry Night on planet Venus, 

could entertain the lie limerence mightn't be 

misplaced after all

sticks out l/ the Crucified One, or the fungal thumb 

of a dolescum King Kong,

whose enormous onychomycotic thumbnail

could not fail to remind

of a junkie's closed blind

w/ a veneer bananarhoeal. 

The very notion

of my meeting someone

is radge as an ad 

for an accomplice in a crimeagainstcreation

fraping the Churchshop Facebookpage

between the tearduct placement chugolas chasing 

the Big Society penny for pagan dreamcatchers

& other therapeutic tat of alky arts & spacky crafts. 

 

I've faked fierce fatalism 

to protect protective pessimism

soooooooooooo 

long,

that I see nothing offsong

or fishy in the iffy Lurpak Fortune

heirapparent who saw sense:

Death is the skull of an old mucker.

 

V.

So spryly stomp l/ Captain Scarlet,

do the Stalin shuffle over bodies

(in the singularpringular in this case, Josef)

- one nailed to a shelf

flatter than a swizzy Schweppes, 

or a pressed flower some cuckolded colonel

relinquished on the Eurasian steppe.

For you tread on my dreams.

Or at least their autumnal smithereens,

my red, gold & greens

cracked as a cat's chorus of Karma Chameleon.

 

& any dark brooding green 

shoots of maturity, red & gold 

corolla of survival's beauty

protruding from the shooter turned inonme

(as if some flowerpower intercessor

lovemugged the buttonithole at endofthebarrel,

schmoozemissiled 

an armistice w/ the arsehole, me-shaped gap 

where no magisteria overlap)

would be just another 

humble hardwon

holding con, settingmeup

l/ an unassuming dawn the Day Of The Bomb.

Feeling all the more wretched 

for that sweet breakfast of Frosties & water for one,

before a glimmerofhope nuclearbored me l/ the Bomb, 

another home invasion of unrequited love  

discomboburaping me of the normalcy 

of nice isolation & neat avoidance.

 

I have engaged private security firms 

in my every Englishcountrygarden.

I've cemented broken glass along the rainbow.

If there is even the remotest chance 

I might fall in love w/ you,

get lost.