THE ACTUAL DOING OF IT

 up & slow & late & hungover
    & we cook sausages
on the old split level oven
 calling out as we turned them

 show us your little pink arses

 & we eat them with eggs
  & toast & coffee & cigarettes
   & he gets his stuff together
 for going back to town
      & i boot my laptop
  & get my stuff together -
 rolling a row of cigarettes
   & placing them with a plastic lighter
    next to my tin russian ashtray

 in the spaces on the spare room desk
          & he says

 you really are a writer

   with respect & maybe awe 

    in his voice & pause
 & i cherish that moment  
     for the acknowledgement of

 The Actual Doing Of It

  over & above any results 

 or deals or hysterical lauding 

ODE TO PAINKILLERS

a tourist
in the chinamans
bottle cap

and
the
rush
is
an acceptable inevitable cloudbank alarm

and it holds back its rain
and says soft thunder instead

a hard sell of cotton ignorance
on the sofa thats the world

and where there was pain
and a sawdust afternoon
there is now an omnipotence
balance
and
bubblewrap benevolence

and before the flatline freesail
my mind orders
eggs
over
easy

no rush

and fresh cigarettes please

and matches

as
all
my
fires
are
out

from foundationfortheaidoflife.org

A.M. RITUAL

  i 
get up slow
open curtains to winter sun
and
blow my nightmares out my nose
  
  i
sort
out
the
cat 
hes knocked his water over again
  
  i
sit at the dusty desk 
got small coffee
south london blues on the player
rest my fingers on the keys
  
  i
swear at the cheap lighter
busted or empty or something
sun comes in as stripes thru the blinds 
  
  can 
  i 
channel anything at all ?
  and
how it will sound
when
  i
read
it
back this evening 
  when
  i
  am 
  all 
different in the hurrying night ?

  

from casatnations.wordpress.com