Wednesday, 26 January 2011

and then right after

This new soil is just dirt but dirt is just tea stains ground into a football shirt.
Damned clarity obscured broken and beside itself. One last wrapper laid on a bin,
You by me smiling, doe eyed and crest fallen, enough to make me vomit stale beer.
I had a feeling you'd be hurt, but i was standing there behind myself bleeding from my ears,
Screaming, close to tears, tearing at puppet strings that weren't there
feeling broken, near beaten, then begging to gloat.

Only in dreams

You were burning like a sunrise fading in an old mans eyes.
Heads turning but too slowly to be in surprise.
Each time the big hand hit a number it fell to the floor,
when it comes to nothing o' clock I guess thats the end.
You're running your self backwards into a late conception.
One day you can be president of the world,
and pick the chewing gum off all of the worlds tables.
One day you can buy the most powerful gun in the world,
so powerful it can shoot the life into cadavers.
One day you can have a heart and courage and a brain.
One day you can be home with a dog and a wife
and a closet full of mink coats and skeletons.

Sunday, 9 January 2011


I am waiting for this to all fit, wanting wisdom to come to me as I click on my desk lamp.
Illuminate my manuscript and show me the divine path, trick me into belief.
As for right now I'm following shadows, chasing my own tail, unravelling inwardly, laughing through a mouthful of blood, scrambling in the mud at the side of providence.