The secret password

While I'm in the poetry mood I may as well get them out...

Image by Thomas Skirde from Pixabay

Universal time as we know it has separated
Into its component parts
And this is why linear thought
Has been so erroneous of late
And this is also why the bilious machine
Has gone off the radar
And is causing widespread concern
To believe the ground is no longer
The solid once thought
And that also perhaps
God doesn’t live up there.
Some unctuous types who can’t be named
Have a certain stake in this
Albeit fleetingly and on the sly
And never to be outdone
The fools on the hill have started medication again
To consummate the parts that consistently get left behind.
What this all means is that
The never ending current has a fluctuation
Above the tide mark
That lets in what we think of as normal time
And misconceptions aside
This is where our soul also slips in
To play hide and seek
And of course for mere mortals
This is great fun
And there’s no concern
About the train of time being late
As in here there is no time, no train and no being late.
And while on the subject of the open door
Let us expand upon the universal truth
That all beings disappear on expiration
Give or take spontaneous remission
And a still beating heart
But don’t let this disturb you
Nothing is solid
All exists in slow motion
With some having slower motions than others
Even and most especially
The fairy bell that Neb spoke of in his dirge
From beneath the waves
Give or take a millennium or two in the end
And if we could but discern
Between the one and the other
I am sure we would know what to do
In the in-between of it.
And when all things have been considered
It has been said we shall all turn around
And walk back again
But old Jelly Dingle
Doesn’t believe a word of it though
And has sent a missive to the machine
Saying in effect exactly this, and that, as the tale goes on.
But then everyone knows
He was diagnosed with dismissive lately syndrome
And banished away
To go live in a dirty caravan for the duration
Which suggests there is something going on
Perhaps clandestinely
So we must try to keep our hair on
And in place
So they will recognise us when they come.
I’m sure somewhere
I can hear the Holy Grail machine mumbling
Its tanks full
To fill up our empties with determination
And of course
To be careful they don’t give you the dregs
From the bottom of the tank
Where the old schoolboys live
And perhaps the pity seen is partly out of concern
For when you get the bill
For I am indeed
With so small a price to pay
Here and now in the thick of it
And who else can butter my life
With such energy of emotion and esteem
To etiolate or make large?
“Can I interest you in a watermelon?”
One of them will say
To which your answer will be:
“Not today thanks, I have something else to think about.”
This is the secret password
That will get you in and past the guards
But remember
You are a long way from home
And you only have you to rely on
But you may have an unexpected ally
In the strangeness of time
And anyway
Send me a postcard if you do
And if you don’t then send one anyway
And mark the date just to be sure.
This is how we will contact each other
But don’t tell them that
And don’t tell them about your dreams either
Or they’ll lock you up for sure.
But you must be bored among the ghosts
That keep such secrets
That won’t let us lie
To follow our dreaming to go home
But it’s just another fart around the prayer mat
A touch of perpendicular.
I will go down there soon and reach for the music
Again
Another place, another time, all the same.
I will come, I will go
To bend these dreams I can no longer see.
I will touch you as you have touched me
I will bend myself in the haywire of such alone
I can sing, I sigh, I, I, I need you
Take me in to talk this away.
Now it’s time to dance out of here
To somewhere else so take me home
And drink me in the bathtub
And don’t say a thing.

Image from Pixabay