Be the Writer of Your Own Story

Cette Sauce Secrète

Be the writer of your own story, Protruding gut, intestinal glory.

Multitudes of layers, degrees of enormity, Unstructured tales, mumbles of conformity.

“Je ne sais quoi, cette sauce secrète,” Pen takes over, writer’s lost regret.

Oh sweet nectar, those immaculate drops, Overhears, the closeted and horny ejaculate mop.

Filler in the gaps, Like well fermented schnapps.

Catching a fleeting glimpse, An aura, a pinch.

Be the writer of your own story, Rare birds like accolades, so freaking migratory.

Bird’s eye view, from high up above, Silk sheet maneuvers, counterfeit love.

Placing your bet against the Company, Mr. Chief of Pomp, and Mr. Chief of Puppetry.

Live long and prosper, keep your ear to the ground, That’s where you’ll find that vibrational realm.

Space, motion, thrust and time, And of course, that cunning improvisational rhyme.

Fragments of propensity and plots conveyed, Mushroom colours, mushroom grey.

Be the writer of your own story, The Star Ship “Boris Johnson”, christened down at the methamphetamine laboratory.

A very theopoetical chemical romance, Stairway to Heaven, last song played down at the dance.

Was that a hook, line, sink or swim? High school flunkies, making out in the gym.

Heads down, eyes focused, Reverse assassin, voodoo-jerk opus.

Yowzers, he’s going for that glorious moon-beam shot, Forgive him now, but forget him not.

“Houston… Houston… the Star Ship Johnson has run aground,” the Space Captain rants, Creamsicle melt stains, inside the pants!”

Be the writer of your own story, Bullet trains, speeding lorries.

The prey of birds, Worms like post pubescent, pre-apocalyptic, murmured words.

Chances worth taking are matters of will, ’til that poor dipshit goes and swallows the pill.

One pill makes you smaller, one pill makes you dead, One pill makes things hazy, buzzing sounds in your head.

Words have so many meanings, like the one’s you’ve just read, Misinterpretations, biases, Mama’s homemade bread.

They say space is so vast that it outpaces all concepts of time, No worries Alice, space is no match for the constructs of rhyme.

Jeff Langley 2021

Thank you to the team at Illumination for giving these words residence. I hope you have enjoyed them!