"I want to write the last banned book"
You used to say
And you bullied people with your words
Your ability for words
Your way with words
But you never read the silent people
Who couldn't find the words
That you used so liberally
You never tried to translate their
Solitude and turmoil
And you ended up writing
Some of the many
Forgotten
Strings of words

They say
Have common sense
Be perceptive and analytical
Be careful
Be reasonable
Be moderate
But a deficiency of all those
Is love

Don't think about how it makes you feel
And then use the most powerful words you know to portray it
Don't write a line, then use rhymezone to fit in with your ******* couplets
Don't use the flowery words of dead poets
Thus
Glimmer
Hope
Love
I've seen these rearranged a thousand times
Fruitlessly
Write it how it is
If it is beautiful
Then so will be the thing you write
It is the only way

The Melting ***
Is a fallacy
It's more like mixing sand and water
One always sinks to the bottom
Usually the one that there is the least of

Thinking about painless deaths
but decide to go out
on a flimsy bike
pointed nowhere instead
If some ******* is going to get me
it won't be me

I wish we could cut past the platitudes
And speak la langue franche
You and me
Cut past the trivialities
And get to the core
Great men have been there
Mapping 9 levels to the inferno
Or drawing solitude
But we put on pedestals
All those who divert our attention
From the core
And elevate to the rank of gods
The salesmen of longevity and eternal youth
But you and me
I think that tonight
We could chip at the terrifying core

I don’t know about those pastoral scenes
Those bucolic and primordial endless greens
Unspoilt trees and murmuring streams
I know the concrete and the pavement
Uneven cobblestones with cracks in them
With dandelions growing through
Only sometimes

I love the later more
I’m in love with the concrete behemoths
The back alleys of life
The gnarled bouncers (unreciprocally)
The curious glimpses at weathered flyers on the floor
I love the sterile street lights and the worn faces ILLUMINATED by them
The ushers and hustlers and cautious taxis
The drunk geniuses
The night-swimmers
The nudists
The opinionated
Etc

Yet life whittles down these loves for that of the
Calculable
The
Regimented
And
Controllable
Etc

No sleep and I take my dark eyes to the streets
and the membrane separating the subconscious is weak
People become angels and demons
Screeching metro wheels are symphony orchestras
and emotions bump, collide and vibrate like particles in boiling water
No sleep but it's going to be a good day

A small butterfly
In Victoria station
No one notices

You're going to die
But there's a list of the 30 best cat selfies on buzzfeed
Something is going on in Ukraine, or is it Venezuela?
But it's ok...
Sherlock is back on
And you haven't finished Game of Thrones yet
God is a twisted sadist if he exists at all
But you have some notifications on Facebook
Don't think,
Just pick up the phone and play Flappy Bird
Let the feelies get to those thoughts that creep in

The revolution wasn't televised
It was tweeted
And its auto-tune remix went viral the next day

Ever since you left me
I can see ends built into beginnings
Everywhere
You ******

I can sense a great sadness in you
You may wrap a large jacket around your shoulders
And curl up into a ball at night
But the sadness shines through
The tight ball
And the large jacket
You bring it with you to the streets
And you cut slices of it off for the people you talk to

I hope that one day
The cork
Holding it all in there
Pops out

The blues is hot on my heels
But if I keep travelling it stays a step behind
And if I drink and smoke it hides in the shadows
And sometimes when I listen to music
It invades me
And finds a good spot
And sits comfortably
For a while
But then it finds me again
Because man is made to suffer

There's only one kind of normal
But infinite types of weird

Kids in states
In estates

I'm doing good now
Settled down
With wifi
A phone
A house
A good amount of food
I've stopped smoking
And taken up jogging again
And there is no one on my horizon

But I can't ******* write

I want to fade away
like Faye Dunaway

I am an extension of some primal will to survive
But something bigger in here
Is asking
Why

Sitting in room 203
And can't sleep
Sitting upright
Staring at the door
With unfocused eyes
Imaging true love on the other side
For so long
That I can almost picture it
I edge towards the door
Just in case
Turn the handle
And sear it

Smoke bursts through
And crackling flames invade the room
I choke on the fumes
The hotel is on fire
I guess I was right

I Love my baby
But my baby is bi
She loves me too
And girls on the side

I dont know what made her
Live through this dichotomy
Maybe it's her DNA
Or maybe society

There are drugs
And the shadow of divinity is scattered
By an unwelcome daybreak creeping into the room
Revealing lechery in our eyes
Everyone's voicing their ultimate truth
And yards if soul unfurl
As we distance ourselves from god
And words fail
All watched over
By the retreating darkness
And the wrinkled reality revealed

Life is like the M25
Circular and eternal
Covered in tarmac
With little skid marks
And Little Chefs
Life isn't really like the M25
Nothing is really like anything

And the radio did play
As you sank deep into your chair
With eyes that said
Let the robots take over
Then the grass
Then the fire
Over and over

I feel no kinship with gay culture
Yet I am a *******
I feel no kinship with the heterosexuals either
Yet I lust after unhinged limbs in the dead of night
And I look for a concrete self
In unobtainable categories
That allure and allude me
And 300 people have been sentenced to death in Egypt
But I'm thinking about where my **** goes
And writing poetry about it

These French keyboards
Have the n's and m's all mixed up
And you end up typing
Facebook.con
I like these French keyboards

As I dip my rod
In a vat of excrement
I wonder
What made me
like this?

I remember through the haze of Hong Thong and Thai Stick
Our sterile love
In that shabby hotel
In Chiang Mai
Our stubble
Like Velcro
And I don't remember much else
Wasting away
Here
It's funny how you forget things
It's also crushingly sad

If you want to cross a sea
Sink

Somewhere in the path of my life
That noise in my head got tuned down
I started getting good nights sleep
I started to be able to concentrate
And control moods better
Started being on time for things
And I started eating couscous salads
And other things middle aged Guardian readers eat
The epitome of adjusted

Then you came along
And the noise in my head came back
And I lost all those things
But it's ok
It turns out the noise in my head
Was music

Soul-mates come from hollywood
I know better than to love
It is as real as money
And when the banks burn
and people ask what was real
fingers will point in all directions
indicating nothing

Something interesting happened today
I stitched the pansexual symbol
To the back of my denim jacket
And went into town
Most people didn't get it
But a few did
And their jaws hit the ground
And that made it worth it

I roll up
and lubricate my thoughts
they spiel
the sky crashes down
and the furniture is shaking now
the bed is jettisoned
the outside whispers
nonthreateningly  
a perfection forms

One man on a mattress
out there
is a utopia

The man who had all the time in the world
For whom the clocks stopped ticking
Didn't know what to do with himself
And soon enough
Not an amount of time you can measure
But soon enough
He prayed for death
And to have less time

The baby
Who was born with all knowledge in his head
Went straight for the razor
And cut this whole thing short

My foot
on the small of your back
Your lips
at the foot of my ****
We rise
and fall
together

We are born with the capacity to love everyone
To find anything sexually gratifying
We are conditioned otherwise
**** condition
Seek to deregulate
Seek to push
Seek to love

Didn't want to make a splash
In those days when we were
Strapped for cash
And we lay indolently
Took things intravenously

Don't want to make a splash
As I skip stones on your lake
But If I leave a wake
Then baby ride the waves I make

I knew you well
And I can picture you right now
On your own
In your room
With only your beauty
And be pretty sure that you are just there
On your own
With only your beauty to keep you company
*****
And writhing miserably
Sometimes
But not mostly
And I'd have liked you without your beauty
But you are there now
On your own
With only your beauty
But your beauty was nothing in the end
Really

I lost myself between your limbs
But found myself in your smile

When you go from being a producer to a consumer
everybody knows
you’re going to have to dance to the producers beat
you
CONSUME
education
you
CONSUME
your
individual style
you
CONSUME
yourself
because you are
a brand

We stood infront of each other
Ripping off chunks of flesh
Mixed with matted hair
We gouged eyes
Struck bone
Tore strips of skin
As pools formed at our feet
And kept going
Clawing at cartiledge
Pulling at intestines
Until we got to the core
And we were both bare
That was our love

Alone on a mattress
Next to my ideal love
That one in the head
(S)he's a shape shifter
And always fits in neatly
With my lunacy

Lacklove and manless in Moloch
Vile ******* in Moloch
Moloch
In whom I set disinherited
Dispirited
Listing to Arvo Pärt
As civilisations wax and wane around me
As towers are raised to the sky
Left to rot
Then lived in
As the furnaces of the world whirr on incandescently
And as I try to use long words to make it all seem better
And as words finally fail

Oh god
If you are up there
You better have a good explanation
As to why I need to *******
To get to sleep every night
And why
You put those things in my dreams
And why
Good people die and **** get rich
And why
You created beautiful people
To laugh at subnormals
It all seems quite unfair

Send me a blonde
And we'll call it quits ey

Most mornings
Are met by a deep sigh
But at least
I don't have to whip off my covers
And find that I don't have any legs
Or no *****
Every morning

Nina Simone might be happy about having her smile
But I'm just pleased about having my legs
And my *****

There was a saint at the bar last night
He wore a battered shirt
And had uneven stubble
He cradled his beers
Peeling the labels off out of boredom
If you looked closely you could see the early signs of a receding hair line
And bags under his eyes
All he had said in three days
Was "beer" and "thanks"
He didn't look like a saint
And no one went home with him that night
And he ate 50 aspirin
And he wasn't at the bar the next day
Or the next
But he was a saint

Too many people write about love
without being right about love
Full of
yet tight on their love
Spewing
an echo of flowery 19th century poetry
When the real love
is a point of view
It's looking back on that girl you hated 5 years back
with a new eye
It could just be a cat purring in your lap
It could be a warm fireplace
or a ******* you gave in Chiang Mai
It could be the ocean
or it could be that time when you collapsed in a gutter in New Orleans
and you lay in the trash
but looked up at the stars

I am tired of the Americans chasing their opaque neon dream
I am tired of well tailored speeches justifying wars
I am tired of the dusty remnants of a roman lie striking fear into the hearts of many
and an absent god forcing his framework on an apathetic world
and I am tired
I am tired of constipated museums
and the few dictating the sonic landscape of the many
I am tired of horse meat scandals and frenzies over crashed planes
and I am tired
I am tired of globalisation being an auction for the lowest human rights
rather than being
wasabi peas at Tescos
And sleep is the cowardly death
of the feelies and TVs of the world

On monday
I will have to brush shoulders
with artless people
in an artless world
but for now
I have Songs from a Room
and Dave Bixby
and the stumbling hours of a Sunday afternoon

If you say I sound bitter
Well,
I'm not your baby sitter
I can't tell you that Eden awaits in the clouds
That the perfect one
Is out there
And so forth

We have to sift through the shadows
To find the light my friends

If you want to love,
Knock your head with a rock
Until you are blind
To blaring truth