The Leash

Life’s livings played, mislaid, by bought desires, acquired constraints

By-pass the marching heady saints’ close tonic harmonies

Tub-thumping in pursuit of coin collections

Their raucous pier-end silver-bandstand unencumbered keys

Breathe over sands a music poured out oil on treacherous seas

 

In roving bands our lives are led – by wacky Frodo quests

Following a fancy’s fairytale told by a tickling troll

Whose art of grammar blows to shatters what we would consider,

Our own supposed elections

 

Aloof we push our boats out from a heaving choppy shore

Our throats give cheer and echoes ring – go sail the factual flume

With its concrete masiff breaker rocks and softsoap-sell surmise

Bubble motifs all-hailing us towards our dooms

 

Pervasive indirection hammers, cleaving troughs from seas

A fere on a watery airbed dreams of rudders; ardour swings

To larboard where appears a suit let loose to wandering winds,

Which lash no leash and bear off drifted rafts a-swaying

 

Thus captive run to currents’ courses disregarding space

Pretenders fallen to earth gone out to cruise the pleasant lanes

For pickings, lickings; surged upon by serendipitous swells

On fervid fodder forays

 

Imagine a Blake, a scholar, he to whom no man’s ideas

Subjects himself to suffer them, but he must make his own

Bespoken tight-knit vessel, rigged to overplus all else,

By a summoning autonomy

 

He renders rough rebuff across those Lotus-eaters’ bows

Who catch at trade winds, frame commercial mind-melees

White slaver cargo trysters with a boast of high command

Assumed in savage holds

 

Yet all such ropes to hopes aver a mendicant design

Of vagabond wish-wanderings by the spirit’s petulant curse

Availed by self conceit consumed by all-contending thrust

On a route to a World’s End

 

But go those players heavenwards in marching bands assailing

Moist marineres with divisions of a syncopated rag

Perhaps too many times and much ado about prevailing

By brute assault hard-bitten sailors tethers to tie-off

At late-made fenders

 

Applying styptic staunches to those bloods bound out to sea

To ease its bite by stinging, working up a wizard school

Against hagridden chases, fed by overmastering drives

And chastening airs declare them to proclaim the fisher king

Whose is the pearl of great price; both the giving and its end.

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