The Vultures

We contemplated politics
Passed through Picasso
Jumped blind into our desires.

Spent the day in bed
Quilted with a primitive engage
Then sank into the night.

It was all moving too fast
Two engines colliding head on
No turning, no stopping, no break.

We wobbled on a tight-rope,
Arms flung out, buckling under
The first impressions of love

But as quickly as it came
It went even quicker
Spiralling off into the night.

A flock of vultures swooped down
The moment I saw your morals
Clear like blood on your hands.

Leonard Cohen

I marvel how 'everybody knows' builds up the feeling of a collective consciousness, in such a sardonic manner!

Candle

First,

your naked flame is coated

cold blue,

but in the cave of my hands

you widen.

Your torso smooth

like I remembered.

so white, you illuminate

in dusky night.

Curiously

tilting you to one side…

your liquid form

s

p
i
l
l
s
in the palm

of my cup.

I watch your transparency

harden white.

then peel you

away

from me,

my identity

imprinted on your form.

False Advertisement.

In his retiring manner Bill strolled into class, and expecting to see his creative writing class it came as a surprise when he was greeted with a class full of unrecognisable faces. But instead of attending to his surprise, he nonchalantly brushed it aside by taking a seat in the class to merge with the newbies. His arrival stirred no raised eyebrows since it was still the first week of uni. Various smiles, and hung-over expressions outlined the tables.
    Still set in sleep mode, a disproportionate amount of time was spent with a glazed look over his face. Thoughts drifted to the patchy accounts of the night before and to the content of his fridge, which homed a sorry supply of beer. Inexcusable since he'd taken advantage of coupons which entitled him to a ‘buy one get one free offer’ and every so often his attention would revert back to the class and each time he did, he would be comforted by discussions which made him curiously glad that he had taken a seat in this unknown territory.
    Bill glanced at his neighbour’s module handbook which was entitled Advertising. It went against his believes of consumerism; having enough unwanted clothes, gimmicky buys, and skint related aneurysms to learn that the art of media persuasion was bullshit not to be bought. But he was comforted with statements like ‘Making things that make people happy’, and although blurred with skepticism, the thought of making others happy pinched him with contentment. Maybe if Bill had been feeling cynical he would have thought a degree in Advertising would be sucking Satan’s cock, but he wasn’t and the debate with his inner self justified that he could do good things with advertising.
    The layout of the classroom was such that the students sat in a ‘U shape’, a layout which allowed Bill to get acquainted with the various faces without struggle. None of the faces were particularly striking to Bill, aside from two. One guy had a prehistoric look, like he was missing several genetic links in the evolution stage. And then sat quietly among all the erection killers, there was a girl who sent his imagination into pockets of deep filth.
    After the two hours were up he approached the teacher who had the register, and whether Bill had advertising in mind, the curiosity of the unknown, or the girl, his pen appeared before the sheet, and without little analysis of consequence, his name was added to the list, along with the final thought it's just a ride.