CLOSED THE BIG DOOR

they

wont

let

you

die

in the regular madness
of the chattel lands

where guilt is on tap
like a riot hose
& innocence is vestigial

& theyre proud
of the suicide nets they hung
below the factory windows

to catch & save

the lives they use

to beat down to a dumb nub

GUILT IS IN THE EYE OF THE SHAREHOLDER

'rolling just to keep on rolling

 i dont want to leave 

 this heaven so soon'

Mark Lanegan

this writing lark

  born of cliche fear

this posey parade

  coming out the chalk pit mire

its guilt-dumping
  in the pleasure cup

its dirty genesis seed
  seeking the right rot

so fling it chimp style
  at the observers glass

& name it something weepy 

  heavy with caveats

in the showground mirror of it all

TV HASNT SLEPT SINCE 8/10/1997

my tv 
never says 
goodnight 
to me
any more

clicking it OFF mid show - 

  atlanta cops weird newspeak
  wrong aspect richard widmark 
  hitlers eternal adventures

( specifically ;
  how albert speer designed ruins 
  into the reichs new buildings
  so the 1000 year rule
  could decay in scheduled beauty )

-  i feel guilty relief 
like i kicked out a heavy talker
after a night drinking on my sofa
to wait for his cab in the street

and when i stretch out in the repeating dark
i know hes someplace out there somewhere 
bending the cabbies ear
twenty to the dozen

and when i try to
                  fall 
                     safely
into
the
natural nothing
battling the bright white noise of absence 
and the ufo lights in my eyes
i
know 
half the world 
               or 
              more
is still ON out there
making waves and taking names

from youtube.com

MO' POPS

it all comes along in the low clouds

i bang a clumsy frame around it

made of night tide mystery drift wood

and
for guilt  for life  for sane
i
hang
it
on
this cyberspace wall

-

ball
deep 
in the hinterlands
of
the
new
century

in its thawed swamps and dried ditches
in its improvised emergency drainage

my pre-millennial dread
my strange 1999 tension 
when i stood before myself
in the let-down morning 

seems
justified
now

-

the morning
is
teenage bold 
kung fu wise 

it struts
a breach 
of light and letterboxes

and
wastes no time at all
calling out 
the nights
quiet
comfort
fibs

tricky, pre millenial tension

ORWELLIAN RIPTIDE

what if its the clouds
that
are metal 
and concrete

the sky that is polished glass

and the ground under our boots
that
is nebulous

like
soup
like
steam

a swamp of passive inaction
        
        of the dormant anger
        of inherited guilt
        
        of decades 
        of distraction and denial

sucking and writhing
with
dangerous
deep
orwellian riptides

from forum.davidicke.com

CAPITALISM POP

shopping
is
a
drug
and
a
liar

a dark gene

kick it
with
window shopped wishlists 
or
sate it with charity

we got all we want
unused
in
guilt
cupboards