Member Poem

I lay in the depths of Allen Ginsbergs Howling mind, a dumb stoned foetal poet,
Paralised amid boxes of experience not my own, 
Waiting for guidance from a spiritual father,
who's thick insanely inspired amniotic fluid of the soul I greedily absorb with fat cheshire cat glee.
Staring through hollow sockets of his crystalised skull I tremble at eternal thoughts,
thoughts of new fantastic reality, and normality lies extinguished in a pool of wax frozen in time.
Thoughts invade of weeping Beat Poets smoking farewell communion for the soul of their hitchhiking lover.
Thoughts of Blakes Universe, a burning bright flower of destiny unknown,
unfolds in sweet conscious climax of initiation.
Thoughts of a friends screaming blank eyes swollen in fright at the starched uniform by the shock machine.
Thoughts of the Oceans breath inducing highs and dancing through thin hair feeling free and alive.
Thoughts of the backseat of a green automobile, smiling at the stars in the arms of Adonis wishing for time to stop.
Thoughts of cinfusion and amorous despair bringing swollen blue tears.
Thoughts of the ruins of a dead civilisation, of wonders of knowledge long lost in the maelstrom of time,
the silence of a city deceased is the silence of peace that can be heard after Atom Bombs die.
Thoughts of a quest to Bolivia and Amazon chaos in search of reality and Yage.
Thoughts of feeling, rhythm, religion and drug induced visions that brutally force their way into poetic validity.
Thoughts fragment in apocalyptic insane knowledge, twisting all reason, deranging all senses until,
poetry is religion and the art of prophecy.

Thoughts draw a veil across my dull red eyes and in my blindness i see my mind, my quest, my madness in an instant, and then
Nothing
Just bubbling sludge of my unborn creative soul.
The Lunatic Saint taps my forehead telling me to think for myself.

Written By
Clayton Spall