From
being born strangling under my own slick cord
To
snorting cocamacaine in a co-op morgue
And
there I saw the dead laid out in pooling red
Red
as the sun setting over the Thurrock ward
From
riding into an Escort doing forty
On my
BMX riding the main road blindly
My
dangerous load skidded right down Southend Road
A
road my house is on eternally
From
passing Kerouac in a Brixton theatre
To
feeding on rare steak in the World Trade Center
Sobbed
through a wedding, sicked in my bedding
And
touched Jimmy Page in Wembley Arena
From
shatting wetly in my hungover trousers
To
cocktails in the bath while I had a shower
Made
my boss cry, ate a cactus to get high
And
smashed a Super-loo by human power
From
falling fifty feet from a forest tree tall
To
hear Enoch Powell speak in a London hall
I’ve
drunk in the wooden pub that I fucking love
And
wrote for two years after I ran from the mall
From
driving down Broadway in a Lincoln town car
Drunk
with hookers and Yardies in Nottingham’s bars
Forgot
about Spain in a spasm of brain pain
And
floated under comets and Norfolk’s stars
From
running from police ‘cause arson was at play
To
sliding the Siberian tundra in a sleigh
And I
made small bombs to put in suburban homes
In a cold school winter down Third Avenue way
From
eating a flower and smoking a shoelace
To
eating caviar and planning to buy mace
Caught
my legs on barbed wire, caught my head on fire
Seen
my skull bone pulling grey gravel from my face
From
signing on on Basildon’s Thatcher burnt floors
To
hiding away for days behind closed doors
Timed
the elusive ‘Tusk’, ridden the last bus…
Crashed
on rich floors amid the must of the poor
From
crossing 110th Street in the dark
To
having the sun stolen from my little heart
Took
a pill for a thrill and I was ill, but still…
I
have fallen like dusk from the swings in the park
From
the dark dark dark amid the blaze of the moon
To
staring out a panther until I had won
I
have been big and clever, drunk in all weather
And
I’ve been lost lost lost in the clear map of noon
From
cocktails on the Circus Circus rotunda
To
the snowing funeral of my grandfather
Fell
from a Fobbing fence onto the Fobbing bench
Bruising
my whole leg every single colour
From
smashing a double glazed door with my head
To
staying for thirty hungover hours in bed
I got
up this morning and cannot stop yawning…
Broke
a council estate satellite dish then fled
From
walking like a Monkee in Moscow’s mass graves
To a
long time reflecting on how to behave
Then
there’s hot ladies breath and the cold breath of death…
Oh
the snowmen and wicker castles I have made!
Leapt
from a low rooftop and broke one of my feet
To
sweating out my face by that atomic heat
Thrown
up still cold milk, touched fields of spiders silk
And
stolen cars to leave them mere yards down the street
From
a Devon eclipse in a gay actors home
To
stumbling round a muddy Glastival alone
And
outside Heathrow I fought happy with the snow…
Bled
from my head for reasons too many to moan
From
pissing in homes unfinished by the sea wall
To
spending hot pinty nights swaying on a stool
I
have held sweating hands while waiting for the Man
And
lived a decade job-hanging in the mall
From
school-trip looking at the grey graves of the Czars
To
wearing a yellow shirt under a pink bra
Drank
a quintiple whisky, let a Beetle hit me
And
dug into a bowling green under dawn's stars
From
crashing and smashing the blue boat on the Broads
To
carpet hashness in university halls
Broke
my warm arm on ice, stole from a farm barn twice
Crunched
down secret gravel my thieving on call
From
the top of the Empire State to rank home wine
To
short Lenin laying dead with a waxy shine
And I
have ignored the phone in my own home
And
ridden in the airliners that play with the time
From
finding beasts and beauty and putting both back
To a
fifteen car police chase on a haystack
I saw
the police chopper above me hover…
Pinging
my pants I’ve smacked myself in the sack
From
wearing black leather and touching softly lace
To
fighting in the pale forecourt of Pelham Place
And I
have gone West because the West is the best
And
there on the beaches I have got off my face
From
writing wretched words that make pretty girls cry
To
smoke on the rec. below chefs hats in the sky
And
in the eighties I stole Volkswagen badges
Staying
out on the Frost estate so late, oh my!
From
freeing captive budgies to the winter trees
To
see Multisanti in Little Italy
And I
tore a dead mouse in half moving the bath
Its
soft red insides strung like confectionery
From
wearing their leather and eating their wet flesh
To
paying to see sick people in their own mess
I own
part of the moon but live in one warm room
And
when I do vote I draw a monkey instead
From
cycling down the Fobbing hill in sunglasses
In
the rain at night on coke and fucking blasted
To
hit the bottom hedge banging my rotten head
Plastered
now and wondering how I’ve lasted…
From
these things and many many more and madder
To
the daily colon squeeze and draining bladder
I
write these hard chrome rhymes in this terminal time
To
prove I exist in any way that matters…
No comments:
Post a Comment