last minute screaming angel eyes of
yesterdays accelerated glory are
now small cold pools
without depth
struggling to continue spooling your movie
and
with a canceling hand
i review the schedule
- refine the escape plan
as
(quietly) i look around . . .
soul is a cold white sink
and daylight pink
touches last night’s stains/no opinions survive
the tight rigid sleeping
in the small night
of my
twisted and dribbled plight
eyes both cheated and guilty
- overheated with self pity –
see
in
lurid
Technicolor sight
and
i was riding a plastic horse
of course
- under a slick amber dome
as
the sudden shouting freedom
bled on
in a strange place
outside my home
and
i wailed too
in the dark of the night sailing calorie high
and the loud and spitting whispers
close up in specific ears
mean i do try
and
i was fractured
but
i showed it mattered
by tidying
before hiding
and
i would be grateful now
- not hateful now
nor
spiteful now –
if
i
could
be anything
and
i was the blind drunk
leading
the blind drunk
all around the houses
now
i am up before noon
wearing
yesterday stained trousers
and
i’m teetering
on the edge of rebirth under alien day skies
and
i’m wavering and i'm woeful
and i'm
wondering why i don’t die
and
now
these last morning minutes mercilessly mock me
without enthusiasm
as I wonder
- post amber cataclysm –
DO I STILL QUALIFY AS ORGANISM?
and
reborn
and
disgusting
out the brief darkness and light of drunkness and height
that spat radical thinking
and
I am
shrivelled and shrinking
away from last night’s
wild conception
of
drinking and smoking
and
now my dry thick trembling thumbs
- fumbling as one –
rolling a needed nicotine stick
shocked by flames too bright
and
parched twigs too tight
- still i force down smoke
for the chemical hit
and
i am a pale shadow
empty of light like a cobweb
hanging
in a desert dry breeze
reaching for any bubble packet
- not coping -
hoping
that the chemist’s racket
can help me leave
and
my stomach
is a sad low pile
in foul need
to squeeze out
nicotine brown sick
and
my white knees come to see me
- see through me –
as the fugitive suddenly exits
and
i’m
The Ghost of Evening Past
drifting damaged here
- with fluid floating guts
and
i know this
won’t be
and
can’t be
the only load
to show me
how my insides suck
and
i fix my testcard eyes
on the door
waiting
for what they saw
in the epic evening past
to surface slowly taunting
- like visions unholy haunting –
taking my attention
off my arse
and
habit tempts you
with some artificial placenta
to chew on/at once
lumpy and empty
- the grumpy kitchen zombie is you son!
and
an emotion free zone prevails- preoccupied with the cold vacuum
head mercury boiling!
- bubble packet nurse
helpless and consumed
and
tracers
like drug angel’s
frolic out of synch
behind the bright edges
- so ill
leave an insane craving for soft suds
- fizzy present
to hug my insides still
and
from loving all around me
in the warm
late night storm
to loving nothing
around me
at all
after the dawn
and
deep in
The Heart of Drunkness
i ran before the sun
i had to be finished and
i made sure I was done
and
i am reminded constantly
of the Nazis
that are after me
by the
bold black writing
that lurks
like old slack typing
smudged across me
and shame - but
grow you must
and
go you will
from
The Heart of Drunkness
stumble away from this sick land of old beasts
that you know best
ignore this bloody rebirth/leave
without
ACTUALLY looking . . .
keep denial in style
and
let your car crash legs
do the walking
but
- the kitchen is a painting
honest and expensive
on the hospital walls
and
the world’s a two-dimensional mirage
of endless shoes
in
lurid front halls!
and
outside
a sadists movie
is lurching
from a hidden lens
and
my acting
is intangible now
despite the evidence
and
the first fake lightness
of strange escape
is passing away now
rancid proof
of a
dirty fall near now
– feeling thirty fear now
and
you are still teased
by the
blue light insight
you hunted
for all last night/the ghost touch
of evening past
carries high
the host torch
of jagged hindsight
and
all my angry tolerance
is held like
madness
in one glance
brought on
by healthy straight fools
around me
that
can
jabber
and
prance
and
the booze splashed hurricane
that tore me
from my Novocain
was to others
straight lined
just one more evening
much the same
and
- nobody loves me
and
everybody hates me
so
i’m going upstairs to wear shades
where the phantom guilt
under the clammy quilt
is billing
me now
for fictitious debts
unpaid
and
still
the shattered reminders
are
creeping
through the haze/the torture
and the relief
will strobe me
deep
all through this day
and
i'm a slimy man
calling out
HELLO
again
- to my
Own Private Overhang
and
if it answered me
- in a trance i would be –
not saying anything
and
i am dried up
and
useless like an old fridge
grey and hanging open on waste ground
waiting for the miracle touch
of Morpheus’s
brief
and careless hand
and
why do I do it?
because of the modern world in my face?
a classic reaction
– the search for distraction –
a textbook case
and
in this state
i cannot be hurried
nor can
i be stopped
as
i shuffle at a constant pace
– suspiciously watched
and
when i’m free from the tunnels
and
the screaming train faces
HOME
at last
and like
GOD
i collapse
– in horrible stasis
