I remember the day
when we went out
for a drink
or two
I remember it so vividly
in this old box of mine
that rests wearily
upon my shoulders
I recall taking you back to work
"I'll pick you up at eight"
I said to you
I did
Then of course
we called up the old gang
you and I
and went in search
of mayhem
loose women
and looser talk
Not much on the former, eh, o' buddy o' mine
Oh no, but plenty of the latter
which is usually
the case
You had just been introduced
to a **** cider
that you gulped like a drowning musk rat
then you were sick
and we called out
the
staff
who hurried and hustled
with a bucket of their finest
tap water
I watched in hysterics
as I patted your back
and watched the street lights
as they made your innards glisten
AND THE SHINE!
Oh, that perfect
shine
as the water washed away your remains
Poetic foreshadowing I am afraid, mate
as a bucket called Cadillac
washed up your remains
many years later
over the asphalt
AND THE SHINE!
Oh, that perfect shine
that a once pure immaculate light that was your enduring spirit
had waned
long before the wax melted.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
So you did the ***** tonk
and I did the shoulder shuffle
driving down boulevards
laughing and singing
and trying to find our place
in each others heads
Little did we know
that our words would slice
your face always susceptible
to the tone of my voice
storming out of restaurants
and smashing paintings
of your lovers who were charming
your clothes on the floor
my boxers round your waist
we'd find a common ground
in our anger at the world
and of each other
It was and is
a despicable love
and I wouldn't trade it
for the insincerity of comfort
that so many others have
We shall watch them all rot
at their very cores
passions drilled out of them
as they seep into their settees
while we wear rotten skin
and shine from the core.
That is the equity of love.
and I will adore you
for a very long time
or until my mind dilapidates.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
Try to take
a picture
of dust floating
in the bare naked
stream of light
that dances through
the blinds
Try to take the elation
and despair
and all the auras of
thought
from the innards
of your mind
and graciously
ever so graciously
try to put them
on paper
I bet you can't
I bet no one can
Not with the same
life
and flow
that the natural world
and your busy mind
can do
within seconds
moments
glimpses
and fleeting chances
No snare trap can capture pure beauty
and I will never try
well
not honestly anyway.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC
The soup bowl
sits on the table
under a soft glare
of light
It sits there
on the table
unthinking
unloving
unloved
Look, said I to the soup
I understand
And I did
understand
more than that soup bowl will ever know.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 7:24 PM UTC
The glass grates
against my teeth
The beer flows
nicely on down
The rhythm
with time
and metre
goes
against
the flow
but
With a lack
of care or concern
I can break
these *****
little
habits
in order
for me to experience
a sense
of
literary
freedom
Even if
it does
scratch the eyes
and burn the ears
Even if
it never pays
for a mortgage
or
a new car
At least
At the very least
It will distract me
from the torments
of regime
routine
and God awful
reality
Writing really was
the first
and last
noble human invention.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
Le Tour De France is playing
and this couch has never felt better
I embrace the pillow
much like my brother
he hits up a joint
and I stick with beer
our eyes are sullen
and we are silent
puff puff, drink drink
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
Like starving locusts
they swarm the streets
looking for instant gratification
they'll never afford
Bodies akimbo
****** shaking from AIDS
old men withered and plain
children starved and bemused
all with their palms out
hoping to catch
a little glimpse
of hope
they are the most beautiful people
on Earth.
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 6:38 PM UTC
My how dreams can be
rather bleak and hazy
and altogether
misleading
But it's not exactly
all too comfortable
pacing up and down
on the same ground
until you score into
the very earth you hate
watching the dirt
rise past and over your head
until
finally
not even the light
can grace a single hair
on your defeated head.
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 6:33 PM UTC
Like all things
it all begins
from the beginning
and like most things
it never progresses.
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 6:23 PM UTC
They all build up
like a slow
rising
flood
infiltrating your
comfort
and replacing air
with water
until
even all the spluttering
all the struggle left in you
is not enough.
Oct 30, 2011
Oct 30, 2011 at 6:22 PM UTC