Part 2.
As they sleep
on each moment
tick tock, tick tock,
I step nervously,
in tune.
Destiny and prejudice
fettered
to the eye
that is
a camera.
each eye devout
each thought clean
of each step without
restriction,
To collude, if worlds collide
with the constancy of habit
the severity of belief
the masturbation of relief,
the world
revealed in broken dreams
on unspoilt sheets
confessing,
rejecting at birth the past conceits
of conjugal routines.
Ideal landscapes
in ideal hands
capturing ideal conspiracies on demand,
a resurrected ideal hell
a martyr's ideal exemption
a diasporic ideal conquistadoring.
Clarify your distinct position
and refute rising tides
they are after all
sleeping dogs, better
-unless aroused -
let them lie
and think: what traces might disclose
what you bring forth
and having brought, dispose?
- a broken wheel
a blocked up nose
Are blamed for every misadventure
as every flame consumes its fuel
as every act of love
as every quiet breath, defiant
as genes inflict
the great paradox:
"it",
upon a perhaps -thought I don't know- unsure
human wit.
Condemning the future to reflect the past
through broken promises
or forgotten acts
Immortalising what one day, the facts
expect of you
when caught dreaming,
as dogs often do.
mac dunlop 01/01/01