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Corporation of One “The Real Life”

Burning bright the untamed lion
An uncut diamond of Zion in the Belt of Orion

Looking out on fresh horizon like a prying fly
Eyes widened as it times its run to walk on by the sun and moon
Both rumoured soon to be presumably found strewn across the skies
Blackest night without whom there would be no empyrean sunrise
Each confiding truth eccentric
Disparate to other
Who knows, had things been different then they could well have been keen nature lovers
Instead, they’re undiscovered, running errands in concessions
Never less than dedicated to profession
Clouds they threaten burst and very first thing this suggests is that we’d better get umbrellas or else run the risk of getting wet
Better yet, we could protect and serve those unprepared
Take a leap of faith and take it blind as though we’re sight impaired
With market share hereby declared
We leave the vague reciting prayers
And masquerade in ready-made robes crocheted from famed rhyming pairs
Sharing, caring free communication

Meanwhile, in the far reclines of vast imagination…

A grumpy hipster stood beside the dumpster in a frumpy knitted winter sweater wielding a Beretta
Russian roulette underway, all “ándale! arriba!”
And passing drifter playing wide receiver
This golden fleeced retriever inconceivably excreted in demeanor
Freeze frame of an epileptic seizure in reverse
Immersed in the perversities of nurturing the curse
Resolute through cute salute yet muted when conversing
And not a faint clue what to do with such accrued to-do list of the crudest of excursions
Hurting for a courtesy or two to tide Jehovah over
Either that or sprig of four-leaf clover
Not one careful owner, nor a logbook to peruse
Singing blues in one suede shoe
And slipping, tripping, falling out of tune
Tripping out on shrooms which rumour has it, have a habit of the spelling out of doom
For those within whom gloom resides
Frozen minds long neutralized
A waiting room of patients who are unable to locate recreation room
For life won’t make it known the kind of heinous fate awaiting them

Meanwhile, in the far reclines of vast imagination…

It’s going off and coughing moths are dropping just like butterflies in dross disguises
Sun is rising, moon bidding adieu in hot pursuit of a cold one for the road and a soldiering salute
Underfoot, the crops are flourishing
This plot encouraging the Spring to do its thing and make the garden bling
Hummingbirds they sing in verse recovering the stolen words of places in the mind deprived azure skies climbing thriving terra firma
Immersed in the perversities of nurturing the blessing
Finally a timely decompression
Sight no longer dispossessing
Venturing to some place more compelling
Stretching out with stout devout and smiling back at shouting mouths
Sounding out a better way, if only they just found it out
Hounded out the dogs of war and threw a bone to watch them chasing it
Snuck behind the mulberry bush and stripped off bare-arse naked for the sake of it
Take a plunge deep into clunge of something with mystique
Sleeker than a mackerel’s cheek and snappy in technique
Happy when I’m sad now and I’m glad imagination led me back here to the river basin
Assisting me to solve the most impersonal equation
I know my mind does scatter
Bats her up and cracks one well above the catcher
But I’m less inclined to badger than enrapture
I know my mind
I know I’m kind
I know the kind of legacy eventually I’ll leave behind
I know that I adore all those composed relentlessly to river blind
I know the secret kept behind our eyes

Meanwhile, in the far reclines of vast imagination…

We have now arrived at our destination.

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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