sebastian johnstonlindsay - poems filesebastian johnstonlindsay(december 25,1993) i write wild with...

Poetry Series

Sebastian JohnstonLindsay- poems -

Publication Date: 2011

Publisher:Poemhunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive

Sebastian JohnstonLindsay(December 25,1993) I write wild with nothing but mind and will attached. I was born in the cityBrampton, but grew up in Burlington, Ontario, Canada. I believe the only way totruly understand ourselves is to become completely disconnected from mind andsenses in order to observe from the outside. These experiences are the fabric ofmy writing, as with every other art, it's the witnessing of ourself in daily lifewhich forms the instinctual basis to create. You can never claim to know anyoneuntil you've learned to know and understand yourself. One day we'll live and love like never before, it's all a matter of experientiallearning.

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“λ ό γ ο ς ” Where masks of local trees copulate,Barren paths are worn thin by the students on the hillside.A few stop to observe the clouds that lay solemn on their cotton backs.More stalk in lonesome strides carrying old books up mental stairwells. Harsh visions are adopted by the foot of man. In the faces of God, we resort to careful designs;To collect knowledge in the dying light of fallen stars,Waiting in the sweetness of a city medianAs men drink ignorance from bottomless clay cups. By what ends are we to breatheWithin the cold logic of the gods?How many ill-fated minds have been ravishedThrough arguments for existence; And what answers have been drawn by now? To these; there are no answers to be spokenAloud or by pens drawn on soft papers.By living these questions will be answered.I place my affirmative and dichotic pulse unto these thoughts. Still no more right or wrong than anyone,Before me or after.To this no questions will resolve the amazement thatPresses the human spirit of it’s substance.Nor will answers bring calm judgment. For in the image of God, one places themselves,And in them the image thrives.Wishful are those who aspire to set fire to the dreams of the contented.Answers scarce as the hair of angels provide sentiment’s shelter. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


A Child A child was born yesterdayAnd he will grow. MotherAnd fatherBefore him. Eventual decapitation,Involuntary Emancipation.For he loves while he can,Escaping Japan. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


A Night After Argument White, like the eyes of your mother,Befouled in play, intricate at rest,Once, when all hearts beat smooth waves into the night;Creeping, solemn in the ghost dance,Something fell and awoke you in the kitchen,And you fell, in spirals, cascading like the few early drop-outs of an ant wedding.Everything landed around you; and looking around hurriedly but expectingnothing, remained at rest.Until foul eyes in the branches pierced you and made you smile. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


A Note On Eternity A consecutive change;Reverent collective movement of time and love in a prisonSomewhere to your left.In bars, bodies and idiotic lays with chicks who had no name.There’s a beach by the water: sand and stones, logs that trip and bindBlinded by the shine of the moon;Mother and father.We’re here in this together, will continue to become motivated by life.All the possessions of character not soon forgotten by the clouds who pour theirmind’s work upon us until the sun peaks on those days to remind us that it willbe here long after we die; the definition of forever.The realizations that an entity will out live us. By the limits of our own mortalitywe come to understand the multitude of forever, as the time in which we lived.We’ll never know anything more and why should we? Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


A Song For All The Seasons Old Demon days,where the mind decides to stay,Caught in your auspicious praise,Blinded by white summer days. And all the things I forgot to say,We’ll meet again in the stinging sun’s rays. The birds kept quiet in the evening,No food for the autumn cold.Dazed like Indian summer’s hand,Dressed in lakes of gold. As the grass flies,And the women all die.In the park, some winter dark.The children yelling, dogs all bark. And the moon is lying against a sea,Of cool hearted mystery.Once again in springs sweet hand,We strip against this fallen land. When this is all forgotten,Revival will be a safe with no lock,Completely open to willsAnd well beings. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


A Song For The Sky The time was right when the people of the city could observe a scarlet womandropping her seeds across the city; and they gazed and danced, shotphotographs and sang in jovial recognition!For she was alive again and waiting!Behind the shadow of the earth!Blessed in her bloody robes like a carefully laid out murder victim on the cusp ofdiscovery. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


A Thought On Living I sleep because I'm tired,I dream because I'm asleep.I think I'm living somewhere in-between. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


America! America;Land of sirens shattered, evil and bestowed Lavish and forgiving.America;Homeland to many, Home to few.Seeking Fame treasuries, under silence.America;Tainted moonshine dreams.Land of silent thunder and blinding lightning.America:The way we live.The way we die.America;Republic under siege, and fire.America;Dream big: seem bigger.Raise rooftops; smoke of fire.America;Intelligence divine, growing health.America;Illuminates under dark skies, furious and stolen.Images of the night scene, alcohol-burning retinas. Cigar tainting lungs.America;Land of eternal debt for fossils.America;Eating dirty stairs, climbing to new heights.America;Lonely under crosses.America;Cotton candy zealousness.America;Dreaming, infinitely unsettled. Promised and found beauty.America;Insearch of a dream. Sparkling sundown. Every fading fashion, halting delight.America;Collaboration lacking CEO's.Outward perspectives.America; Awake and looking. Profound Mysteries.


Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Art In art we find ourselves reaching, at distinctive forms of death.These forms are known as ideas.In art we can find the death of ideas and birth of instinct.as the true artist makes reality his enemy and death his bride. The image of man always find it’s sick way into all artistic forms. Man will alwaysinseminate his art with phallic distortions. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Awakened I draw upon the earth,Endless caverns of light, seamless timeIn the bright of moon.On grasses, there are dances a thousandReflections begging me to wake against the day.By mid-day sun I drink warmth for the cool rivers, distilled in the forestsOf laughing trees.I’ll dig worms by the evening and lay them by the saturated plantsFor which they work.Theres a myriad of children, steppingInto beds of somnolence, with handfulsOf bashful flowers and weeds.All the day is a haunted dream,To which we awake.One must be aware of their ownSlumbering intellect; as to enthrall it into desirous action!I’ll sleep beneath my quiet mind this eve, and wake to find a garden, no;Fields of possibilities! Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Awakening Dreaming again,waking; tell a friend.Beautiful bliss, blown blackoutsShit disturbing, shot sellouts. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Beach At Night, With Mushrooms A stranger to this augmented and deserted plain.Claimed in the name,Of myself through the leaves covered,the belt of mystic haze.The moonlight obscures thought;In such moments of strange lust. There is nothing more to trust. Dig deep child, reach further, you'll soon, feel it to.Realize all and examine each.Race down a busy binding beach.The water is where everything ends; For you. Look over escaping prisioners of the scene.Formulating ideals of ideas.Pre-constructed fancies of oblong judgment. Twist sand and uncover trees. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Collapse Judgement If not a dreamer; stay awake.Slow decapitation of a once tested dream;Whistling flight of consciousness, through vast arenas.Cosmic thrillers, and sunken pillars, dance onDawns fingers. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Down Guelph Line cold out here;Street corner,21st January 2011Stomach of red wine mind of words“Come on bus I’m getting cold out here”Withering away in the heavenly white cell of winterUnder blue skybig blinding sun burnsBus arrives drunk and heading southWith the windFeel the windShe is the wind and she is standing right beside meTired bus passenger speaking inBroken Italian tongue and writing secret messagesTo the driverIt seems he only speaks with herHis traitHearty New York ItailianoEHHHH! Big balding brown haired headBigger rough handed voice chewing gumOpen mouthed and glare eyedNow here I am again alone & cold on cornerMy freezing leather feetEnter second bus with teen boy whoCalls his mamma on a cell phoneA mother enters with a stroller and parks her wide eyed Indian baby beside meSoothing his cries with“Shh mommy’s here.” No accent.Walker’s corner and a laughing lady entersAgreeing with the mention of more cold weatherBearded stoner thanks the driver politelyBefore embarking on whatever awaits himMy cough is contagiousThe woman now alone looks reflectively out the windowAt the passing blocksThe teens chatter back there making weird noisesOne is wearing shortsWhile the driver appligizes for the bumps in the roadWhich aren’t his faultHe’s a nice man


And as I stepped down the two steps to the groundHe thanked me kindlyIn the shopping mall entrance parking lotSurrounded by cars I again begin to walkCigarette in mouth & waving lighter lightlyIn the winter windI took refuge behind a large ford pickupMan with a pipe was the only one who greeted meOn sidewalkAll others looked off dazed with and expressionOf trying to find something to think aboutWhile really they just wished to ignoreThis humanYoung and dressed in tight dark hipster clothingTattered and ripped in places through the yearsSmoking 4th cigarette of day with no handsMy greetings could not wake themAnd drunk on wine in the sunny blue afternoonRounded the last bend & found myself in the old dive:Home. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Downtown Acid test downtown,Turning through those sidestreets,Discovery of self;Location, location, location.Anatomy’s sister,Shining in the after glow. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Explanation Of Woman This immaculate cover,recedes in the pre-dawn.Near the heart:She dances, and flings;sentiments, visitations sent anywhere, tirelessly.She stood armed,As an ancient child screamed and pressedOn her brow, as if the years of fighting had come to nothing.And as she left, her presence lingered like night’s chill in morning,Dancer on fire’s vibrant tongue, biting the necks of insects At the gateI wish to seek you. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Father Blind father's forgotten images.Fantasy, escape of judgement,Wicked wives stares. Blocked out,The rain,The cold,And the pain of the old. Seeking new maiden eyes.Soft lizard cries of the night.Ultimate green perspectives,Blow through year old leaves. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Flowers Of Evil: A Note To C.B They are friendly as I sleepAnd hungry when I die.Blooming,Booming thousand huesOf blood and dreams of you.I wait again,You win again.In the garden of all but loveSun and watered rain fall from above.Those things we said;Will never be enough. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


For Freedom Transcendental morning,Incredible and starry night.The trees are rising. American forgivness; stern misleadings. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Her There she is,She is sex.There she goes,She breathes likeFire down your neckAgainst winter’s spine,Whipping winter winds.There she isSinner in whiteThere she lives;She lives hereOn the other side of town. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Home Bus, body all intact and settled into the nightime scene.Taking me away into the hulled roof tops of madness under the florescent sun.The wails, from far away give insight bold as driven fact;Piercing wonderous music into suspicious ears. Roman roads, are collecting tiny seas.Think of those, who's mending comes with ease.Blood bathed testing.And souls ever resting. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Improv This glass, holds entity.It's grasp is of it's own.I rinse, but it's sacred scars remain;Closed and hidden.Face the night cool demon.Entranced in the darkness.The Breeze blows dry the hardwood,Surfaces upon which toes trample. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


In A Dream The bells ring, and I don’t hear them.I only hear sound, mindful energy,In a motion, in a dream. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


In Moonlight I find glorious strangers,Made up in harsh streetlight's rainy glows,Mass existence; reverence for yourself as well as all theSteamy bloody coffee, and insane smokestackswhich rise around you, above the assaulted ground, towering over the meekgrassy children.Who will lose their minds in corner stores, contemplating a life,of thievery deception and infinite lies,and then retire back to the homes from which the sprang.Wet and covered in their own blind smiles.Insults set to the dusky boarders of sex and cigarettes, sitting on rooftopsexpanding east away from the city.There we stand with;holy carpenters playing in the new glow:City's raise by their hands!Cities fall.Into these hands of mine. Calm storm, awake from your dreary eyesConsume the vibrations, and float on like a sheet caughtin the summer winds.Hot Restrictions; The poet died in Hamilton. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


In The Morning In the morning we will twist our hair in auspicious knots,Glass: These words, shatter, repulse.Damn these holdings, insolent, forgotten. You carry meaning like a swift change of glance.A camel's sunset. We will die for our fortunatly named children;And the disection of memories which will begin in just a-few-minutes.Weight of differences, Let it out now. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Jazz Night Parade,Secret serenade.Masked and stolen,Unfolding rapidly through,One million electric shocks. Hands in time,Sliding pantomime,laughs like cartoonsBlast animated providence. Friends young & old.The folded memories,grasped by the new minds,Exchange of glance,Mindful sonic dance. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Mother Russia And in the east,the birds calledlouder to the Czar,fiercely burdened after the long flight.The whispers in the springtime,brought warm incense sensationssitting outside, frozen beneath the feet of winter,destroying the wildlife, flowers fallen.All was alive by day,But shattered in the evening.Awkward interactions, thefishing man, the working blue collarsthe lucky ones whose death was no longer myth. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Oh,And The Sound Of Music! Oh, and the sound of music!Carried downtown,By the busAirbrakes andMany stops requestedBefore arrival.Upon dismountA swift warm breeze lifts meAnd I land in the lake.Swimming back to shoreTo watch the thousandCitizens conspire in the park.All demands shouted,And whispered will be forgottenOnce the day is done.And as always I sleep in the lazy parkamongst the buzzing alcoholic bees. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Plans Until that night I had never held the moon so close.Carolina was awake and lively in the evening, with the waves never ceasing andclosing in with the midnight tide.A million tiny specks littered the water surface and coming across the scene asliquid prose, the words smiling in their gusting dance faded, within eachexpectant ebb of the wind and sea. Sitting there with our heads beneath the talldried grass, seeking devils and amphibian brains; We sent our thoughts to thelost ideals of the sky. Milk of the heavens all a dead dichotomy of the atmospheric musical symphony.“We need to devise a plan”.We need to burn the bridges down.We need pink gallows in our minds, rubbing up against our legs and making uscum rainbows.I’m going to find answers in the growing wheat.I’m going to grow tired until all I see is beauty.The plan was to break everything down.The plan was to destroy and create around us a glorious new moat of love andadmiration.Pure artistic expression in the only two forms of truly human virtue.All else is left to burn in progress for progress’ sake, as has long been thesorrowful discontent of my race.My feeble race; a race who prides accomplishment over brains and money overall.Never the future see, the ones who bow their heads with lust between the dirtysheets of existence.The plan was to strip all thoughts away from the mind, until only breath remains:Wisdom is glass knowledge, bursting with the heat of conviction, without theuniversal feeling of breathing.Heart and lungs beating and expanding all in time with the earth.And what is the wind if not the voices of the trees?Slowly and ever so carefully we introduced what it is we have missed;The motion of the earth in our hands.It is now the time of nature!Now the earth and all that is natural may be calm again!Our Rock, our sun, our moon, our stars our sky all breathe.And on this earth; as in this mind;We can only be blinded by the things we see,And we can only be driven mad by the madness we create.My mind is mingled within the sun, I touched her and did not feel the resonant


burn.Our minds a solid structure, impenetrable, a cunning wall of experience and lovefor one another.All your thoughts were bought for a kind penny,I should think, that there has never really been truth, but a lot of time to thinkabout what has occurred inside. I have Will enough for an infinite sunset of thesoul, come one come all, Theres a fire started by the lake.Sit and drink, she’s all yours and ready to possess all you do. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Portrait Of Youth Peace be held!River of the swollen memories,Awaken.For what have the sores of casual action bestowed on the land? By the edge of the water we can build mental walls of comfort,Live through wars with fragile eyes of glass.Posit fires that speak through early rings of morning.Blessed are the men who doze behind the dull grey of clouds!&Reach with iron hands extended to a modern storm:Understanding. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Ride Climb aboard,Night train to morning.A loud and lustful light, bringingInfinite Julys in your eyes,Like piercing knives, ghostly,Poetic ramblings.Increased brevity,Innocent democracy,Insentual delinquency. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Streetlights Streetlights are sunken vampires of the night.Swallowing darkness,Figurative sunbeams.Re-enforcing humanity's fear of the un-known. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Summer 2011: A Hopeless Venture Down by the lakeFamilies gather with dogsIn the park, on theLawns games are playedUnder a blue tintedSky, beginning to fadeTo the call of dusky night,The cars leave their lotsEmpty as police idledown the street waitingfor 11: 00 to begin theirstroll to bust beach parties,and hand out tickets topad their pockets. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


The Confessions I-In the beginning Over there, you will find a garden, a river runs through and dividessystematically it's earthy and dull glow. This is where the Dionysian plays cometo life, melting hoar frosted fantasies, and communicating livelihood. For eternitywill be spun in the chaos of two; all chaos lies within indecision and change. Ofcourse, find yourself scared of this enterprise truth.A bird flies out from the long grass to the left, his talons carry in them the keys,follow him and he will grant you anything you wish. II-Things grew While you sit, wondering what worldly face has lead you to this moment, stillwatching the bird as your eyes trace a blue ring around each feather, as if toremind you that on each of them is printed a line from your very life. He's amuse of your existence (so far) and as fleeting as your local saint.Further along the river, you met death in a small shooting path to your right.His eyes drill small, symmetrical holes in your hands and pin you against a tree.In desperation your mind races against this near encapsulation of time.And the trees will swallow you whole; when you ask it.On the chance of morning, twelve others awake and realize your dreaming;locked within you is the answer to this flame. Call it out: It will show it's ravagedtortured body, hungry, for your own forgotten meanings.And looking back, those sights re-gain obvious characters, haunting, floating outof your past. III-In the Night Enter now, your calm abyss... Without us you die, and so shocking is your dream you awake to the stretchingdawn, with it's yawning violet clouds. A chorus of beasts dine in their nests,locked up against the sight of a spawning day. And by this time we wereweeping through a myriad of stolen waking glances. Tears lefts salt stains on the shoulder of Death; and he relaxed.


IV- I visited an old vision, upon which the highest mountains obtained a fleetingreality. I was ruler of myself again, and you of your own. Our freedom hadgrown beyond pale reason, and songs rejoiced in the valleys. Freedom; that irrational goal! Spawning the division of morals giving birth to thetide of ways: Give it water she will grow, feed her fear and you will never know.But I still love her. I love her, Because she rips the hair from my head;and reminds me I'm human. V- Step into a century devoted to the serene excuse of exhaustion. One, whichshall be hung-over, our heads in a kind of medieval melancholy, as if our firstguesses weren't sufficient. People make wine off our thoughts, and then drownthemselves in the haunting thought of literature... Laugh with the haunting thought of literature! Brothers and sisters, we are entering the domain of a mass plagiarism. Silentlyexpectant for the cool hand of reason to pick you up and exalt you. Once, highenough, there will be nothing more to know and you will be able to laughyourself into a deep and ignorant sleep! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! We'll die under the principles of forgotten knowledge. Fear blinds and neverreminds. It is the incapability of humanity to brew the sorrowful fashion of man.We've developed reasons why we can't; it never occurs to us we can. Reclineyourself slowly into bliss; ignorance is where we are living. Sleep peacefully, like a child without a thought on his barren mind. VI- Those shocking morals, each shattered song a hypocritical muse. These wordswere never meant to meaning anything, but inevitably we will invent judgmentfor that. Once, when I was a child, I would take turns at the wheel of truth.


Spinning wild in the basement apartment dwellings, whose blackened heartbreaks the clumps of tar from the side streets which have become veins, leadingto the impotent and sexually confused office dwellings which profess thedowntown coreas structurally intect; Their cocks will bleed in a million shades offashion, and confess to the adulterate sins of our past. VII- Thought should be organic, like the first whisp of a of a girl’s dress seen walkingaway through her valley fields. Her walk is lonesome and your observationspaint your minds picture, we are double images. Sprinting negatives, away into the realm of the dark cave of being. Let grow theflowers of youth, tide in the still ocean.Bird with the soft beak of ignorance, guiding film-like worms through the garden.Be your own comic reflections, and taste your own deviant self-desire forfreedom.Promulgate senses; advertise delight, which will burn small holes in the brownveil of sight. VIII- hey; I'll stop worrying about homosexuals in the garden when the last supperends in it's own bloody hysterics. Your own hysterics are the flashing of thebloody crimson sun. Vanity negates judgment. IX- Travelers in opaque boutiques seek the charm of their own tiny cobras; much toosmall, dancing, twirling: Inside boundless struggles in those quiet cityskyscrapers. Heaven would be touched by our efforts to re-create her. We are all her air, inhaled in the rhythm of life and; eventual death. It’s all apattern set before us. X- Has anyone seen a man dance with something so fake it seems to beeverlasting? Have we finally demolished the last morsel of ourselves turning overgreed in our sore and bony stomachs? Do those boys not seek happiness at theend of the drooping candles? The soft candles made of jelly and other sweets,the type of delight rarely found in school texts, and in the mouths of someforgotten dream, now escaping and running head long into some grandstand of


safety...where we can prod it. 'You allowed society to destroy the intrinsic within for the facade of acceptance.' And so we can wait;For eternity, manifests itself in the stormy sea...at dawn. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Three Short Ones Three Short ones #1 The powdered snow,Lifts me high,and now I dance. #2 The cold cat shone yesterday,today we cry awayour tomorrows. #3 Beneath the snow,there are lizards who will climb your legs,and seize your genitals. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


To Whom I Awake The night is sweaty inside the hot sheetsAnd tired mornings being drops of dewFor the morning bird; A Cardinal calls home to the shaken lawn.I hear his calls through my open window. What artful displays have brought this red field to my sights?And how will I ever sleep again in this sloppy nest of Jazz blankets,That recoil from sudden heat, then cast cooling mirrors so damn steady,Behind melodious black beat and rhythm; swinging like stones aside,The mid 20th century in apt shacks cracks on MAC. Avenue. “tu, le monde! et parle avec un grande fleur” Ahh the curtains are a continual shade of curious commonality,Maybe change would aide an artsy sort of sleep?Sleep without heat,Street heat and meatA Great Greet-ingof masses passing up hungry chances.As the people get sold to some job beyond themselves,There are cute gifts beside each shop that expose themselves to the gentle.Then the pretty women run into corner stores to hide behind cigarette purchasereceipts. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


To: Summer And Her Friends The night is alive,Winds blow down the streets and cool the residualHeat of day. Summer has brought dull grass to the city; 8 days of sun and never a tearFor the browning earth.Open eyes of windows peer though suburban air conditioners,With a light on the valleys of fences all illuminated by the forest. A squirrel is frightened to a near branch, his eyes are caught.All is well beneath the crawling stars, a nightly prison is presented and all areprisoners of the north-American night! Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


Wake Up! Step into a century devoted to the serene excuse of exhaustion. One, whichshall be hung-over, our heads in a kind of medieval melancholy, as if our if ourfirst guesses weren't sufficient. People make wine off our thoughts, and thendrown themselves in the haunting thought of literature... Laugh with the haunting thought of literature! Brothers and sisters, we are entering the domain of a mass plagiarism. Silentlyexpectant for the cool hand of reason to pick you up and exalt you. Once highenough, there will be nothing more to know and you will be able to laughyourself into a deep and ignorant sleep! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! We're all dying under the principles of forgotten knowledge. Fear blinds us andnever reminds us. It is the incapability of humanity to brew the sorrowfulfashion of man. We've developed reasons why we can't, but it never occurs to uswe can. Recline yourself slowly into bliss; ignorant is where we belong. Sleep peacefully, like a child without a thought on his barren mind. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


White Window Watching, Wail Holes dug into my pocketMoney and ashes fallAs I fly away hurriedIn the windAs the trees outsideBend beneath the cold clearWeight of rainHidden in the windowSmoking cigarettes quicklyInto tin cans of waterPlaying jazzEvaporating into the frigid black of nightAgainst the beaten surfaceOf the calm moonhalf hidden by rainy clouds on CavendishNext to the park and forestWhose children attract wildlifeLeaves brown and crusted along the groundThe day may break again.Through the branched that bend and swayIn the ghostly spiritual windSpirits push the winds to heaven and through thisCollection of trees, gawking in my blue lighted roomThrough window with it’s air and smokeBillowing mildly against my white t-shirtCrafted for North CarolinaUnder gazes of audience eyesStill being pushed to heavenBy me for I am a spiritAnd we are all spirits who have returnedSeeking drunken salvationWith sex on mindCocks and Cunts galoreWaiting tired inBook store window down the street“Be there in 5”Waiting in lines to takeThe last hit then climb ravenouslythrough the streets


like mad dog, foam mouthHowling sonic prosePissing on lofty city treesYoung but not without their showThrowing Marijuana into the hands of kidsWho smoke then get busted again and againBut who never get tired waiting for the morning bellsOf school yards and playgrounds just outside my window. Sebastian JohnstonLindsay


sebastian johnstonlindsay - poems filesebastian johnstonlindsay(december 25,1993) i write wild with...

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