A Mourning Cough & a shortness of DeatH

(part one)



Memory In Mind


My illusion, was created by the 21st century

and my illusion is shared, by you.

You see we don’t care, 

but we think we do.

And we can ‘t change,

because we have to all change 

at the very same time.

And we can’t grasp at anything at all,

our drowned hands, still; filled with straw.


Because it’s been decided, before me

and with me in mind.


The real world ceased to exist

before I was born.

And reality, was constructed for me,

before me

and with me in mind,


a wheel within a wheel,

a sign within a sigh;

a 32 or an 8 at best.




And God is not the god we read of in the Bible;

god in the Bible is the government.

God just creates.

The Devil starts wars; and then lies

always in devilish disguise

and still, God just creates,

on and on.


And if you get smaller as you evolve

life gets better each time you are born,

so suffer less; each time you go 


memory of the time before;

or not intact

in and out of every door.


And Along Came Another


And along came another great downfall for man.

And along came you,

Along came lackeyed, unkempt sense;

All six tentacles, strewn.


And along came another great disaster for man.

A better land, with you.

And so came blackeyes;

so came sour fates.

All pickled green grins, sins.


And so came downfall; another great disaster for man.

To trust the master, you never should not.

That’s what they teach for five days, review on the 6th.

All mixed and upside, optimistics.


Don’t let them close the door; don’t let them

don’t let them take you man

You, girl you.


And so disaster came, that hell on earth for man

for in the soil, 

the poor soul.

The master told

And foresaw;

every mineral should be accounted for.

And along came fate, and consequence to the door.


And I’ve never seen a rocket launch

but in my defense, I’ve got 800, pointing at me.

We’ll see rockets,

you and you and yes, you man.


Indian Springs


Calling o-up

“Bow, and arrow!”


“Hi ho, ho”, get away (calling).

Noise on hold; scalp my world,



Sitting in the wind, ow(e)

Don't know anything,

I call out.


Calling, “Oh no!”

"Bow, and arrow!"


“Hi ho”, they are calling

on a hillside,


lying in wait.


We Are The Earthlings


We are the ashamed to realize,

“We come in peace.”

Or, pieced together. Somehow.


The Day The English Came For Tea


And there the Chinese were,

as happy as could be.




The English came for tea.

Now, with tea comes toil

and these days, so too comes oil…


Sounds like a likely story, old chap!

Sounds like a great storybook!

A movie, a movie possibly!

The Day The English Came For Tea”!

The day God came to town,

in fire and blaze blown;

in blood on doors!

The day God walked right by,

His burning tree so bright!


A burning tree? 

Sounds like a likely story, old chap.

A metaphor maybe, 

how bout that?


And there sat Africa as happy as can be.






the English came for tea,

but stayed for centuries.

The day God walked right by;

in blood on doors,

in famine;

in wars.

And with the burning of a tree he spoke…


A burning tree? Sounds like a metaphor to me

a likely story, old chap.




India, the Americas 

and many more

were happy as could be;




the English came for tea

and with tea comes toil…

The day God walked right into

blood on doors;

retribution, lack.

In white garb; to cover shame,

leaving burning crosses;

shoved deep inside bible belts.


Lion’s raw

Drum roll





The Day The English Came For Tea”!


And stayed for years and years and centuries.


trade wars;

slavery; white imperial class.







Praise & Negotiate,

now as one


The Evo-polution Race.


Progress Is A Fowl Sweep Of The Stars


There was a time; when a man would look

into the distance

and see his house

and say,

“I live



But now; a man looks

to the heavens

and says,

“I think I live somewhere over there,

on the other side of that mess

and a little over to the left.”


Progress, is a fowl sweep of the stars.


Washington Socks


Washington socks, you got your Washington socks?

A brighter reflector, an interesting take.

Knife from a fork,

fork from a spade.

Make us pay.

Lift us up;

lift us up.

Make us say,

In this we trust and in this we do.

In what we say and in how we


Screw jeans up long legs.

Legs in her chair;

talking away. Nothing to


freeze the moment or chill the day.

To blow it up or blow away.

I could do ice-cream pudding,

I could do frosted rake,

I could do birthdays; and I could do birthday cake.

It’s going to be 



or ice cream and cake.

Drown in a river,

or get crushed in a hole.


A brighter reflector;

an interesting take.




Son, look.

This is where the rich man lives.


Look at that Lacklustertm

Look at it’s Allshinetm

Treeless dinosaurs,




The Son.


They never lift a stick.

Money buys the sweat of another man’s neck.


Going Through Levels


If there is one thing I do enjoy, 

it’s cleaning my pipe.

It’s always fascinating to see,

the little trails we leave.


From pathways in fields,

to walls from the stars.

To trying to float 

our way 

out of this place.


You notice something similar 

in the ants,

they sometimes also leave 

little paths 

in the dust;


just like us.


The Peddlers


Before the clock-stuck-ten,

I’d never be in bed-by-then.

I sat,

I smoked,

I drank,

I thanked.

I peddled all about and shook-time-out;

I’d never be in bed-by-that,

I sighed.


Before the world went-to-war,

we all stood.

I stood,

I looked,

I shook,

they shook,

we shook:

the ground under my feet did shake.

They’d never do that,

I’d always thought 





Before I walked out-the-door,

she stared,

I stared,

we both stared.


I have no idea what you thought,

I thought.

Look at this,

look at you,

look at all this crap we take.

I felt tears well inside,

only with you:



And this time,

it really was:

the last time,

I sighed.




You must calm yourself before the storm




you must dance about, in a total daze;

only if you must,


you must be calm;



You can close-your-eyes,

or praise the Almighty

who-ever it may-be.


But you must; be calm.


Think about life,

about birth,

about death

about seconds on a clock,

and wonder why we split-it-all-up like that;

and why it works.








The reasons



And you’ll pass through alive;

still; in-time

and better yet;





and calm yourself before the storm.


Red Hymnal


I remember the hymnal, red

I remember his short, blonde, hair.

I remember abusive overtones

I remember being slapped through the face,

for not singing the songs; I was told to sing.


I remember being asked

Who the fuck; I thought I was

I recall pondering, just for a moment

the deeper meaning to his question;

there was however no depth to be found in him,

I gave up pondering.


I remember glances from worried juniors

I remember green 44 gallon, little wall to my left

I remember blues skies, dirt under foot, four walls; inside out

I remember hatred by the bucket load

I remember the slap through the face.

I remember my hymnal in his hand after it had left my cheek, red.

I remember being told I had

No value

No pride

No respect

For moving my lips, silently to words.

I recall pondering, just for a moment

the deeper meaning of public humiliation in front of your peers.


I remember it all, like a well-captured dream,

But I won’t remember his name.


I Believe I Heard Beethoven


I believe I heard Beethoven


He was sitting inside a trash truck,

yellow dirty sides;

yellowed bright lights.


He was playing on an organ or an electric piano,

and he played the first part of a famous piece

over and over,

in his sleep.


People stood at the side of the road;

all over,

excited to hear him, Beethoven; still as timeless as ever.


Holding their trash and waste,

they run to him, as he nears

and throw in their bags 

of rotting foods,


and plastics;

that all go into the same truck 

where Beethoven plays.


And off goes Beethoven

king of the new world,

lord of the metal truck.

Master of the wretch; and of the guck.


And he rolls over

and he probably; definitely curses


soundtrack for a metal truck.


Bluebird Disease


Bluebird disease,

flies and approaches.


coming in the winds.







could come through the taps.




You know, trust me you know,

sometimes we have to wait… 123.

It’s more about learning than doing nothing.

Stuck in turnstile waiting rooms.


I wait and I wait,

“Looks lovely”,

and off I go

look at that and, to think,

I never knew it was that damn big!

The more you evolve the smaller you get.

Stuck in turnstile truths.


One day… if you wait,

Greatures will crawl from the sea, again,

as we,

did, long ago.

Look at us with microscopes…


…and think of us as small.


Stuck in a Turnstile.


That’s Him Taking The Sheep By The Throat


That’s him, taking the sheep by the throat;

skinning the lamb.

Sticking instruments in.

Playing trumpets.

Rejoicing all the way;

that him.


That’s him, 

in every 

obscene scene. 


Your worst bad dream.

Your worst stomach ache.

Your first nervous twitch. 


A scratch; 

an itch.

A scratch; 

an itch.


That's him.




He wants you to run around

and scream,

he wants you to parade

all over and play;

on trumpets

and trombones

crack, crack, crack rolling midway.


And he wants you to fight,

and cheer.

Fight bull.

Fight man.

Fight brother.

Fight the so-called enemy.


And he wants you to believe,

in everything that he can say.


That's him.

He can’t help it,

he was born that way.


You Have A Right Because Your Left Felt It Necessary


Another single celled organism,

floating in space;

and you know it’s better,

opening a book to the right.

It’s your first eye,

your left,

forced by the other until;

2 sides,

2 fundamental types.


The emotionally strong,

the physically wronged;

the bitch.


Until the right takes over,

only in strength,

not in size; necessarily,

never in soul,

never in love;

never in love.

You’ve felt nothing before;


if you know of hate,

or guilt, or jealousy.




So push for moving on.


You have a right, 

because your left

felt it necessary;

and eyes, for our 

sparkling imaginary brains,

that thought, 

it might be 

nice; to see.


How To Do With What You Can’t Do Without


You can do what you like,

but you can’t do it everyday.

You can say what you feel,

but can’t say whatever you please; whenever you please.


You must think about what you do 

and what you have done;

but you must stop thinking about what you are doing.


You must zone out,

and be in the right frame of mind.

You must question;

but always assume that life is fair.

You must think about things of great importance;

you may decide

but remember that 

the age-old question is long sought 

but never ever actually found;

and you may do whatever you please

but not everyday.


You must forget that you will be judged

and assume that

everything is going; 

according to plan.

You must assume

that your life has direction; 

and that your direction, is part of that plan.




And it could be

but only if you decide.

And only if you open up to possibility,

to individuality,

to freedom;

to what the words really mean,

to the awe of it all.


And you must remember that

no animal; besides the human 

isn’t allowed the absolute right to those very words,

to those beautiful things.

And you must remember something,


you can reach out

and you could

and you can

and you do,

but you mustn’t anyway. 

For no one has freedom these days,

and still; nobody cares.


But you can do what you want

you just can’t do it everyday.


The White Dwarf


The white dwarf

sat there,


at the old yellow things.



he thinks,

We will all be the same.


Falling Star,


stop now.


Write a song that the future will want to play.

And go on.


Bling, bling, 

little yellow stars,


so bright.

I was bigger too,

so much bigger

as well, 

at the start.


No. 5


You are the guy in the western;

Cowboy Paradise.


You are the guy, with his head in the horse trough; 

drunken state of hell,

joker of the town.


Eyes wide, bubble-mouthed.

Wake-up, call.

Wake-up, crawl.

Eyes wide; bubble-mouth,

He’s called.


Joker of the town,

drunken state of hell.


You are the guy; with his head, in the horse trough. 


Cowboy Paradise.


You are that guy; 

in the western.


Mostly Mosquito


Hello, Mostly Mosquito.

How’s summer coming round, how’s blood?

How’s life of the wanted to be found?



you wanted it like that.

I said, “Drink juice like all the others down there.”



you live your Vampress hell.


you live your blood cell.


Doing it for kicks?

I’m sure that’s what it’s all about.

Kick rib,


Calf muscle grip.


We learnt the tricks in school,

we learnt how to kill;

we ripped bone apart.

The hate they sold.

The curse of the old.


The curse of the old.


So, how’s summer, Mostly Mosquito?

How’s life of the wanted to be found?


In Order


In order to fully understand reality,

you need to truly understand fantasy:

for fantasy grounds reality.


And without fantasy, reality would mean nothing to you right now.


To entirely understand fantasy,

you need to really understand possibility:

for possibility governs in this fantastical way.


To wholly understand possibility, 

you need to definitely understand purpose:

because without it; nothing is, was or could be.


And to thoroughly understand purpose, 

you need to certainly understand the future,


in understanding the future, 

you need to try to understand the past.


To try to understand the past; 

you have to consider the present.


And to understand the present, you have to fully understand your brain.


And then finally…

to fully understand your brain, you have to think.


All The Venom Throats


All the venom throats, 

all of them

in meetings;

in world greeding places.


They held on to me.

They held on to you.



a human factory.

You talk to me of sheep,



All bloated and plump.

On anti;

depressants and pills.

At least, they hide it from the cows.


You know, we used to graze;


with our teeth.

Now days we do it; while we sleep.




While we sleep,

and we sleep;

while the whole damn world

keeps counting on sheep, 

on sheep,

on sheep;

for sleep.

And counting on, 

and on,

and on.


March, salute; fire.

Eat, consume; expire.




as something so incomplete,

so forced, 

so weak.

So insecure,

so uninteresting;

so sad.


And yet; 

sadness is only the metaphor, 

that artists use, 

to describe the beautiful way, 

understanding washes over a man’s mind, 

when seeing, 


before him the woman he once loved.



A MOURNING COUGH AND A SHORTNESS OF DEATH. Copyright © 2010 by Kent Dylan. All rights reserved.  

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and/or reviews.

copyright © reigndear international limited