Graham Brett

Recollect breaks away like paper photos wet,
In a water drain,
Pictures old, filled with scratches and grain,
Speckles of black,
Add more coal to fuel the sane’s regret.

A train track hacks through theories conjured,
Of outbursts pondered,
Through the dark tunnels goes this neuron train,
Clang,
Clang,
Clickity, Clang.

Warped visions flicker the tunnels of the sane and brain,
Try to remember,
Try to forget are all in vein,
Abstain past thoughts throbbing,
Strobing,
Memories and theories subconscious lain.

Go this steam combustion from the soul,
The vapour stream creeps and crawls up air duct mains,
And blacked by the coal,
Go the steam train,
Rise, rise, and steam those eyes.

Release more mind controls,
And fill those dark holes,
A dot at a glance,
Iris,
I rust the robust powders to dust,
In an instance inside the eye that I blink.

Bullshit and genius congeal on the floor until they sync,
It creates a link to November,
I remember one night before even one drink,
One of those stories did burst the brink,
The barrier where we congregated, waited, safe then the stink.

Elated,
A view created,
Then interrogated,
Interrelated,
Bang,
Clang,
Clang,
Clickety, Clang,
Go that neuron train,

Collecting passengers of that night,
The tunnel and the light,
Contrite memories traded,
There was a view not right but heated debated,
Slowly the drinks sedated,
I sat talking with my close friend,
My view I gave him to interpret, but also to lend,
It was hated,
I tried to defend,
To mend,
Nothing was penned, just stated,
And to him over rated.

What I meant,
And I’ll make the statement free,
“If there was a GOD, a celestial being almighty”,
“What if he was, was the person sitting beside me”,
Clang,
Clang,
Clickety, Clang,

The whistles screamed not sang,
Tunnels through the flesh terrain,
It was as though the train crashed,
Smashed head on into the fable hashed,
All cards on the table,
Bashed as my friend screamed,
“NONSENSE”
But I had said the words with saliva rain and nimbostratus sense.

At a glance it seemed like some simple contrivance,
And yet I still burst it with a verbal lance,
Even GOD would have an ego, surly,
Me, me, and I created me,
And all that you see,
And all below,
“Wait Jim go slow”,

He still must have the created experience,
Be what he made, live that mortal existence,
Create himself with no memory of a before enigama or being,
Earth smells,
Go through human life with their touch, hearing, and seeing,
Taste. hihs and hells,

And what if when the end of his time came, the dieing frees his real name,
All is revealed once more,
And then he would sit his rightful throne as he had once before,
Surprise grips my friends features in shock from the light travelling down the tunnel,
Bang,
Clang,
Clang,
Clickety, Clang,

A mass into a funnel.
That night after the thoughts loaned,
Graham died,
Maybe God’s cover was blown,
Bang,
Clang,
Clang,
Clickety, Clang,

Bang!

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