This is Art

Splintered into cold showers
Looking at the hounding walls
Screaming at me every waking hour
Like eyes looked like they were
Staring through barbed wire
Cutting against the skin
Like Jesus to a wire

Burning a reef above his head
And the ropes tied behind his back
Your suppoesd to be an artist
Screw voices tightening taps in my head
I looked out with my eyes burning
A rough rugged shrugged blue

I am an artist
I just don't want to follow you
And your identicate fits
With your identicate Tracy Emin rip offs
And stuck up false presentions
Of how we are to identify with ourselves
Without words rippling of corrections
To be made and how games are meant to be played

With the snob gobblins and ta ta parades
Screaming yippeee yo yippee yay
What a fantastic display
Of plastic hearted emptiness
Said with the sneers
With an una toneable sense of jeering

This is Art with a deadpan certification
You can't bend the rules
Like the the box you have as walls!

By Jeffrey Johns 30/7/2009

Burn the faces of the stars

In the cold mid winter
I sweat with shivers
Pouring out of my bed
All the time the blank box
Is feeding me useless garbage
Steaming out those monsters
From under my bed
Haunting me with caffiene dreams
Soaking in the nightmares
My Eyeballs stewe in constant wiring

My Eyes burn in the face of the stars

Wet drips of tear dust
Hang from my lids
Forming bushy bags
Growing into my sockets
Pumping viegns against
These glassy eyeballs
Staring like gob stoppers
At the tic toc clock
The radio hisses and buzzez
With the late night tittle tattle
Of small time conversation
I feel the fires burn into my head
For sleep is lacklustre
I am falling under daybreak again

My eyes burn with the faces of the stars

The piercing lights
Slatter through the glass
In hypnotic soundscapes
Burning up the fever staind shivers
Pouring waters onto the bed
Kindered with stenches
That run off my back
Like monsters in the night
That slabber my teeth

by Jeffrey Johns 7/7/2009