Claptrap IV

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Jealousy is a window,
slut,
and half open to me.

Corpses I recruit in the wake of love
never realise I don’t exist.

On this private street, venting songs
I have known many whores.

They come like saturn ringing around my glow.

My plans are evermore transparent and shows me the spineless.

Listless and removed
from the haggard artillery of my youth.

In the veils for mystery, leave me stranded
I can not materialise even if I attempt bulging enthusiasm,
my counterfeit sentiments are cranked and fading.

Tumbling down the scale of strings, at ease, I feel as pale as a spotlight.
Transfigure my settings, please,
to the paramount version of me.

Before little people appear, you will slap immediacy forgetting what I reveal.

Two spirits collide
somewhere I cannot be.

Here and there,
eyeing the interesting.

Nights volcano beats in embers of the heart to soot my being.

In this secret battle for possession
I am unassigned and impassioned
without a person.

Because I must work the mechanics of life’s endeavour
and hoist the unknown.

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