Night of the encroaching thoughts

I've been listening to a lot of electronic beats lately. This is the result.

Faith Bacon

Night of the encroaching thoughts:

Mechanised dust enters by window crack, 
Leaving trails of sawdust self back
In circular tracks
on the sill.
I think: This must be Lucifer!
 I curse.
It flips on its back:
wings pasted down
Weak dust legs cycling upwards
growing stiller
and still. 
Dust is dust.

Smokers with their ointments for pains.

Rubbed fastidiously into veins.

Flowers, bushes and earth

Scent the humid, coarse air.

Reminiscent of a hospital.

And, of course,

this

persistent rain. 

I must remember to take a second breath.

I’ve hidden too long in death.

Clung to it like a balloon,

won at a fare

by a lover,

tin rifle

and
dead dog stare

Move Heaven and Earth for connections.

I mistrust how

Angels sow seeds to grow affections.

I can’t see why

They’re

not

considered demons.  

Flesh beats as wanting, death is a bone.

Existing is lonely, dying is alone.

I’m hanging out in the water tank trick,

denying help.

And I’m painted out as the lunatic.

On the fringes

Of a social circle
I can’t get out of.

Playing with rotting corpses of people I once knew, behind.

Day-freak phantasies in period costume read rehearsed lines

I re-animate in my mind,
wasted embodiment, weak limbs hardly attached.
Dust is dust.

I must remember they’re

All longing acted out
by loathing heart.

I must remember to take a second breath.  

I find five million ways to get over you.

Then given five million and two,

To leave you dangling tie high over

Suffering pit

Sky scores thunder, darkens azure

I cast forsaken

Shadow

with pitchfork

and

arrow tail tip.  

I must remember to take a second breath.

For these memories so final

That they live in death spirals of narrative, which weaves

Intricate tooled fragility into individual grieves.

Each little melancholic cog fastened to me.

A tree

Weighed with rusted scent leaves

In the autumn

heavy dew,

I draw up my fatal position.

My time passes, oh it passes.

The grieves glisten, oh they glisten

in the narrowing light

dejected I see

my
cracked

human condition.

Einmal wird das sich das Licht sich nicht länger dir zuwenden um dich zu treffen

@tellthee has interpreted the Greville and the Tombstones track, One day the light will no longer turn to meet you.

@tellthee told me her translated works are more than just English to German: they are expressions sewn as a quilt of feelings, sounds and imaginations of her reading the original. That, to me, is beautiful.

I am very grateful and love to share them.

This is: Einmal wird das sich das Licht sich nicht länger dir zuwenden um dich zu treffen