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
Midnight seeps Through And one man is between his sheets With something stirring beneath the pleats And he wrestles his dusty memories He relives and reviles them And why is the night so dark? And why does it make us damage ourselves?
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
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
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
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
"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
Me and my brothers We are raised tall and defiant We are rallied and railed against An apathetic world at which we spit We spiel our ululations to the night sky Our candles burn at both ends
We rise to get broken Here comes ocean Icarus wouldn't be a legend If he hadn't aimed for heaven
Threadbare and naked Shattered in ruins in front of you Cold trembling leaves of your autumn To my naive spring Here All I ask Is for your limps To unhinge For you To let me in For me To loose myself To you For however long That may be Take this longing from my tongue And all the useless things these hands have done
The poetry It has spilled Like the blood of a great massacre And it has diluted To a near transparent film Over the 21st century Over Miley Cyrus' *** Over grotesquely distorted salaries It lingers in the grey concrete behemoths of utilitarian cities It's on your cat It's in your parents hair It's in Angela Merkells teeth And this omnipresent film That only few can see Is evaporating into a backdrop incandescent beauty It's vaporising into an intoxicating nectar It's what slavery was to the blues Or the reconstructions of war to bauhaus Or what the crusades were to the renaissance So twerk on Miley Your artlessness Makes art stronger by the day
In the cold dead of space The voyager one Floating forth With dark was the night By Blind Willie Johnson Engraved onto a gold plated disk In its belly So fitting
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
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
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
It's crazy how you can be at the right place at the right time And become a millionaire Or the wrong place at the wrong time and die In a gutter And how arbitrarily these people are chosen And how many things we can invent To make it all seem like it makes sense
Yesterday I heard a street preacher Ask a man If he had found god And he replied "I have money and health I don't need god" This struck me as very true And I wasn't sure who I hated more Out of the three
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
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
We two boys together clinging Absinthe drinking Paradise garage dancing Old people alarming Tower top gazing Hands clutching Discordant steps searching Sound of you falling Giovanni's room emulating Stop the lift kissing Separated Then returning And turning Swinging Dancing 2-stepping Laughing Crying In Bars Clubs Roofs Rooms Corridors Parks Shops Seats Cinemas Streets And then returning Hands clasping Lips locking On our mattress Fulfilling our foray