If I saw you I'd call you "Spam"
a cheap combo of offal and meat with a handful of mixers spit.
You could sizzle on my fry-pan
be bubble and squeak for one.
You'd still be over-priced, but with baked beans the best fart maker around, but for brussels
well the Belgians don't insult them out loud.
If I saw you I'd call you tomorrow
as I can't be seen in public with you
nor you with I
you know how people talk.
A kiss would be copulation
a double cheese-burger stomach swell becomes psychic gestation.
We could talk for hours about me and you
HOW BORING
them and theirs far more rewarding.
Award winning stars they are
celebrities like you and I.
If I saw you I'd call you over
you could be the chicken that crossed the road while they moved the other side.
Then what side would be yours?
The blood-stained or soaking wet
as lights change from red to green you go from green to worse
a dragon-fly on stagnant pools
as jesters play dragon fools.
But stay where you are
it's safer
and McDonalds is there
golden toothy smile.
If I saw you I'd know the colour of your panties
whether they were laundered or bedroom-floor repeats.
Your nipples would say "It's cold"
my tongue would cry "Behold"
I'd know what breakfast cereal you ate
I'd see the scars below your hair.
The blood-shooting eyeballs smirking lies
Such sorry knees, scarred and lifeless, still knocking a berber face-plant
carpet burning such a stinking waste of time
I'd know you're mine.
If I saw you you'd probably walk away
I'd be happy to see your behind
the panty-line dead centre, g-string love
bum-floss crusty and creeping.
Why do you walk so funny?
The "Duke" John Wayne in fish-nets thighs
horseless and stable
unmangered and Christless below my kitchen table.
I'd still whistle
your smile would moisten up
You'd still ignore me.
If I saw you, which I probably won't
though I might
were we in the same locale
that's a tough word to say, easy to spell
an "e" on local
the silent and invisible pee on invisible neighbourhood walls.
You'd probably be hiding something
I'd be hiding in the open
sore.
You'd probably point over your shoulder and laugh
I'd laugh right back.
That was
if I saw you.
Rat-tailed, thigh-high grey skirt, slut
I'm buried in you
so blue.
He's so black
so coiled, laid back
darkened dust awaiting words.
Part just a little
part just so.
I see
I go
you turn away
Aunty shakes her head, looks on regardless
memories of the days still gone tempting her own gallant man.
That feeling when sweat won't bead
when it sits as a film on the brow
clothes become second skins, all too tight and unnecessary.
Here and now to couple to love
to roll entwined about a gift
where a dream couldn't reach a climax.
I kill cockroaches in my flamenco dementia
stamping here and there
where-ever a brown bastard shows its diseased self.
"Ole that la-cocka-roacher"
I know you won't be there in the morning.
I'm standing here listening to the tears of angels
the whole world's laughing back.
Mr Cohen's Marianne never met Suzanne on the landing of cheapened luxury.
I feel like the breeze sliding between rushing bodies
an apple at rest.
Tangy poppy-seed orange with a caffeine fix
Solitary now.
Do you have anything for a lost memory?
Could you lose a future?
Another face in the blood-lust crowd
the contest like slaughter.
Show us gore
Show us pain
Show us how far people will go for money.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Devil in a blue dress on a slow moving train
while I watched the world pass and the wind called my name.
I approached and then glimpsed what she shyly flashed round
atop her 2 legs, a sweet hairless mound.
She covered then flashed quickly, I spied but a glance
the next I knew the serpent in my pants
is eager and willing as you sit upon the wall
open, inviting, like Humpty before his great fall.
As her lips part to meet me she jumps down, I'm left standing
she's floated away, I remain empty handed.
Was it my size that stopped her, brought her down from her perch?
Should I go over the wall and continue my search
and scale that hill to the one lonely tree
or stay where I am and wait patiently?
A shadow from moon-glow
Where is my canine companion?
A way back?
No
I should have known
he's bounds ahead
Night clouds between me and the lunar her
a black pall like death around Earth-locked me
Thoughts of uncupped, leaking, fingers and broken hour-glass statues pour from there
through me to here
to you
How optimism and missed opportunities can bring aggression
How an unclear mind leaked blood on the innocents hands
How far away can they hear my whistle?
How much longer does my tape have to run?
A nimbus in motion to a moonbeam bath
My stride measures fairway
and faraway they mocked me
taunted me
teased me to erection with a flash of thigh, of lace, of nipples hardened with fear.
Above the green that holds sands tight flashes tear at the night sky as if day was more in vogue.
Maybe it's the day of today or of tomorrow somewhere not here?
A warning?
A memory?
Gunfire of distant battles?
Mental projections of my lightning strikes, my harpoon into the deep blue?
"2,3, hup"
An about turn
an about face
an "About fucking time"
The leap to hand of my terrier friend
tongue in need of moisture, breath steaming and glowing in a wash of yellow
I cast a shadow here
there the shadow cast me
a role
a bit-part cameo
the crowd scene
third face from the left
not with the glasses, though I was hard of sight, short of focus
the one in green shirt
to match eyes
to match the heart buried in pride.
My pride so brown
shitty, dirty brown.
Flung and wallowed in
wrapped in
draped in
paraded for all to see.
Coffin coloured apparel for the walking dead.
Unplaid , straight brown.
Straight from them to me.
I wear the leash about my neck like a charm
like a symbol of some long-gone slavery
like a safe place to hang a loop of flax
out here, under and in a night sky
one moment touched by the chill breeze and consuming dark
next moment back in the world of twilight
my zone alone.
I got a phone call from an old friend of mine says he's been "Hocking the wife"
life gets you like that between the mirror and the knife.
"She's not the girl I married"
Then he spoke of "Ghosts"
"The nights blur together and the day just never comes"
He quit working like a dog for a man as rich as an Arab sheik
he's been keeping company with "Rock Stars" and the upwardly meek.
The first time reared it's head, spat back the years like soured milk
the velveteen jade princess spread eagerly on purple silk.
the "Don't worry" came on like ivy-rash, all warm and unintended
"Worry"
"Me" he laughed
coughed a cough that never ended.
The kids grew up before their eyes like dreams lost in sleep
of all the faces and numbers in life mine's the one he keeps.
Families play at the beach
the sun beats down
I sit and watch and wonder "Where do they get the time"?
on a weekday mind
to lounge around and throw the ball
to drink coffee and talk and scrawl
as I now do
a day later no less
and look back and see that dress
and the girl who wore it
a fresh tattoo, left upper arm
something tribal, a totem, a charm
and the split to there
black bra she wore
Why can't she be the girl next-door?
But she is to some-one
though not me
and alas she'll be gone when I turn around
to be replaced by a memory now.
A rush that stopped a heart stone-dead
that turned a world to pain
The love that died, that bled to death
red torrents that found a drain
Psycho strokes the drunken mind
ranting tongue with ear to find
twisted round the passing time
No-one left to say
An empty chest, lost the stolen heart
to the tears that burn the night
Foot-steps that tread the weary path
shaking hands that find the light
Memory burns the future dreams
sleeping eyes that miss the screams
Ones not here denied the need
No-one's here to say
An empty bowl matches the empty glass
as the youthful take retreat
The vacant stool for the absent fool
the grown infant now takes it's feet
Spent a day too long amid the weak
to shelter inside yourself you seek
ancient hands seems out of reach
Who says who's to say?
The jaded look, like they don't believe
as if it matters what they think
They've seen it all, it's been and gone
passing time at the kitchen sink
Spread around the down they feel
dead, scarred skin they watch you peel
hatred born from truths revealed
There's nothing left to say
while I watched the world pass and the wind called my name.
I approached and then glimpsed what she shyly flashed round
atop her 2 legs, a sweet hairless mound.
She covered then flashed quickly, I spied but a glance
the next I knew the serpent in my pants
is eager and willing as you sit upon the wall
open, inviting, like Humpty before his great fall.
As her lips part to meet me she jumps down, I'm left standing
she's floated away, I remain empty handed.
Was it my size that stopped her, brought her down from her perch?
Should I go over the wall and continue my search
and scale that hill to the one lonely tree
or stay where I am and wait patiently?
A shadow from moon-glow
Where is my canine companion?
A way back?
No
I should have known
he's bounds ahead
Night clouds between me and the lunar her
a black pall like death around Earth-locked me
Thoughts of uncupped, leaking, fingers and broken hour-glass statues pour from there
through me to here
to you
How optimism and missed opportunities can bring aggression
How an unclear mind leaked blood on the innocents hands
How far away can they hear my whistle?
How much longer does my tape have to run?
A nimbus in motion to a moonbeam bath
My stride measures fairway
and faraway they mocked me
taunted me
teased me to erection with a flash of thigh, of lace, of nipples hardened with fear.
Above the green that holds sands tight flashes tear at the night sky as if day was more in vogue.
Maybe it's the day of today or of tomorrow somewhere not here?
A warning?
A memory?
Gunfire of distant battles?
Mental projections of my lightning strikes, my harpoon into the deep blue?
"2,3, hup"
An about turn
an about face
an "About fucking time"
The leap to hand of my terrier friend
tongue in need of moisture, breath steaming and glowing in a wash of yellow
I cast a shadow here
there the shadow cast me
a role
a bit-part cameo
the crowd scene
third face from the left
not with the glasses, though I was hard of sight, short of focus
the one in green shirt
to match eyes
to match the heart buried in pride.
My pride so brown
shitty, dirty brown.
Flung and wallowed in
wrapped in
draped in
paraded for all to see.
Coffin coloured apparel for the walking dead.
Unplaid , straight brown.
Straight from them to me.
I wear the leash about my neck like a charm
like a symbol of some long-gone slavery
like a safe place to hang a loop of flax
out here, under and in a night sky
one moment touched by the chill breeze and consuming dark
next moment back in the world of twilight
my zone alone.
I got a phone call from an old friend of mine says he's been "Hocking the wife"
life gets you like that between the mirror and the knife.
"She's not the girl I married"
Then he spoke of "Ghosts"
"The nights blur together and the day just never comes"
He quit working like a dog for a man as rich as an Arab sheik
he's been keeping company with "Rock Stars" and the upwardly meek.
The first time reared it's head, spat back the years like soured milk
the velveteen jade princess spread eagerly on purple silk.
the "Don't worry" came on like ivy-rash, all warm and unintended
"Worry"
"Me" he laughed
coughed a cough that never ended.
The kids grew up before their eyes like dreams lost in sleep
of all the faces and numbers in life mine's the one he keeps.
Families play at the beach
the sun beats down
I sit and watch and wonder "Where do they get the time"?
on a weekday mind
to lounge around and throw the ball
to drink coffee and talk and scrawl
as I now do
a day later no less
and look back and see that dress
and the girl who wore it
a fresh tattoo, left upper arm
something tribal, a totem, a charm
and the split to there
black bra she wore
Why can't she be the girl next-door?
But she is to some-one
though not me
and alas she'll be gone when I turn around
to be replaced by a memory now.
A rush that stopped a heart stone-dead
that turned a world to pain
The love that died, that bled to death
red torrents that found a drain
Psycho strokes the drunken mind
ranting tongue with ear to find
twisted round the passing time
No-one left to say
An empty chest, lost the stolen heart
to the tears that burn the night
Foot-steps that tread the weary path
shaking hands that find the light
Memory burns the future dreams
sleeping eyes that miss the screams
Ones not here denied the need
No-one's here to say
An empty bowl matches the empty glass
as the youthful take retreat
The vacant stool for the absent fool
the grown infant now takes it's feet
Spent a day too long amid the weak
to shelter inside yourself you seek
ancient hands seems out of reach
Who says who's to say?
The jaded look, like they don't believe
as if it matters what they think
They've seen it all, it's been and gone
passing time at the kitchen sink
Spread around the down they feel
dead, scarred skin they watch you peel
hatred born from truths revealed
There's nothing left to say
Friday, December 24, 2010
You should have lingered in the warmth of the gestation-bliss and bathed in embryonic-fluid for as long as possible, perhaps even to now for some, because when push came to "One more please", "Just one more should do it", you weren't to remember the passage from the assurance of the womb to the horrors that have awaited you down through the years.
The accounts from survivors of the consternation that is childbirth will attest to the pain. A pain they maintain is almost beyond description. Yet they attempt with mere words to convey the epitome of the "HOW NEAR TO DEATH WAS I" legend (this is the birth-ers not the birth-ees, please remember that).
Did the pain exist like the blinding light that could only of been HER, and charge all space and time to be the real, as you glissaded on by to the air-conditioned climate of a hospital ward, to the unfaltering hands of the skilled surgeon or mid-wife whose coaxing had got you propelled this far, propelled to and through the greatest of the unknown. YOU WOULD HAVE HOPED!!!!! (Had you indeed of known hope whilst still an infant, hope that only dawned as you beheld a world replete with life stealing on passed to appertain to others without explanation for you).
Could you of envisioned the deprivation of weaning, the humiliation of shitting yourself, the inadequacy of your own parents as doctor and nurse, the torment of schooling, of attempting to acclimatise to a foreign environment, of being abused as "The Little Bastard" simply because you survived the most protracted slide of your life?
The cogitation of age 14, at the dawning of puberty, that returning to the interior of your mother for the duration just might have been preferable to fronting life as you knew it.
That at the age of the original immaculate sexcapade, failure or no, that you may, if fortune persisted and company didn't impede your efforts, secure another chance to be the man you'd always heard about or seen paraded as role-model extraordinaire, complete with a harem from then and now, a harem that comes as testament to capability, sociability, adaptability, technical capacity and all round GREAT-BLOKE-NESS.
Would a life-time of occupying the maternal-incubator have been more easeful on the whole?
Would it have saved the cringes as the reality dawned; "That we are all"
As education persisted through secondary to tertiary or further, or the years saw the insistence of forays into the adult world recognised as genuine employment, who could possibly foresee the bitterness and misunderstanding invoked through rejection, the incomprehensibility of "how could some-one be better than I"?, rear it's ugly head not once, but twice, thrice, four times and more, ad infinitum ad nauseum, to see what ever faculties you possessed remain wasted, stagnant in a swamp of non-concern, stalled in an environment of "WHAT IS IS WHAT IS"!! because it is.
Could this of been eschewed simply at the inconvenience of a mother?
Could you have permitted the passage of siblings conceived subsequent to you into the external world, permitted them to make their own course bravely, ignoring the advice of your seniority as they went?
Would there have been room in the womb-with-a-view for two?
As you maturated to adult proportions would evolution of altered the state of your mother to accommodate your being?
Would she of been capable of fulfilling the other roles she was destined to play?
This is conjecture since the umbilical has long been dissevered, and though parenting is inherent, and we shouldn't leave father completely at the mercy of those who would scream "TYPICAL" to his role as passive non-toter, you as individuals, and I as opinionate, ought to be aware that maybe remaining comfortable and effusively warm somewhere we comprehend is certain to be a better option than endeavouring to produce more than a destiny from the fate we are dealt regardless to others, missed opportunities because of , or dearth of achievement due to.
It is an impossible situation, a parallel to Stephen Hawkins theory of time travel.
Who knows? Maybe on day.
The accounts from survivors of the consternation that is childbirth will attest to the pain. A pain they maintain is almost beyond description. Yet they attempt with mere words to convey the epitome of the "HOW NEAR TO DEATH WAS I" legend (this is the birth-ers not the birth-ees, please remember that).
Did the pain exist like the blinding light that could only of been HER, and charge all space and time to be the real, as you glissaded on by to the air-conditioned climate of a hospital ward, to the unfaltering hands of the skilled surgeon or mid-wife whose coaxing had got you propelled this far, propelled to and through the greatest of the unknown. YOU WOULD HAVE HOPED!!!!! (Had you indeed of known hope whilst still an infant, hope that only dawned as you beheld a world replete with life stealing on passed to appertain to others without explanation for you).
Could you of envisioned the deprivation of weaning, the humiliation of shitting yourself, the inadequacy of your own parents as doctor and nurse, the torment of schooling, of attempting to acclimatise to a foreign environment, of being abused as "The Little Bastard" simply because you survived the most protracted slide of your life?
The cogitation of age 14, at the dawning of puberty, that returning to the interior of your mother for the duration just might have been preferable to fronting life as you knew it.
That at the age of the original immaculate sexcapade, failure or no, that you may, if fortune persisted and company didn't impede your efforts, secure another chance to be the man you'd always heard about or seen paraded as role-model extraordinaire, complete with a harem from then and now, a harem that comes as testament to capability, sociability, adaptability, technical capacity and all round GREAT-BLOKE-NESS.
Would a life-time of occupying the maternal-incubator have been more easeful on the whole?
Would it have saved the cringes as the reality dawned; "That we are all"
As education persisted through secondary to tertiary or further, or the years saw the insistence of forays into the adult world recognised as genuine employment, who could possibly foresee the bitterness and misunderstanding invoked through rejection, the incomprehensibility of "how could some-one be better than I"?, rear it's ugly head not once, but twice, thrice, four times and more, ad infinitum ad nauseum, to see what ever faculties you possessed remain wasted, stagnant in a swamp of non-concern, stalled in an environment of "WHAT IS IS WHAT IS"!! because it is.
Could this of been eschewed simply at the inconvenience of a mother?
Could you have permitted the passage of siblings conceived subsequent to you into the external world, permitted them to make their own course bravely, ignoring the advice of your seniority as they went?
Would there have been room in the womb-with-a-view for two?
As you maturated to adult proportions would evolution of altered the state of your mother to accommodate your being?
Would she of been capable of fulfilling the other roles she was destined to play?
This is conjecture since the umbilical has long been dissevered, and though parenting is inherent, and we shouldn't leave father completely at the mercy of those who would scream "TYPICAL" to his role as passive non-toter, you as individuals, and I as opinionate, ought to be aware that maybe remaining comfortable and effusively warm somewhere we comprehend is certain to be a better option than endeavouring to produce more than a destiny from the fate we are dealt regardless to others, missed opportunities because of , or dearth of achievement due to.
It is an impossible situation, a parallel to Stephen Hawkins theory of time travel.
Who knows? Maybe on day.
Friday, November 12, 2010
I'll tell a story of the man in the moon
and a man whose greatest problem was that he shot too soon
a man who had the world laid at his feet
the one who was caught by currents in the river of deceit.
There's the man known to riches too vast to count
the man so deaf he can't hear his sanity shout.
So poor another the streets are his home
a man with no trust who stands in crowds alone.
One so betrayed he is fearful of love
another seeks inspiration from the heavens above.
A man so vain all around become mirrors
the paranoid man to whom the phone ringing brings terror.
The man filled with drugs blase and uncaring
one greedy and possessive with all things unsharing.
A man to whom birthright means the world is his
the man known to slander the slinger of shit
no wrong known, or done, by another so smart
the man whose dick ran away with his heart.
A man well-built, knotted and lame
one so unpopular yet they all know his name.
There's the one silent and watchful who knows patience is golden
another who has everything only it's borrowed or stolen.
A dreamer with hopes of a future just right
and a man who sees vengeance in fists held tight.
and a man whose greatest problem was that he shot too soon
a man who had the world laid at his feet
the one who was caught by currents in the river of deceit.
There's the man known to riches too vast to count
the man so deaf he can't hear his sanity shout.
So poor another the streets are his home
a man with no trust who stands in crowds alone.
One so betrayed he is fearful of love
another seeks inspiration from the heavens above.
A man so vain all around become mirrors
the paranoid man to whom the phone ringing brings terror.
The man filled with drugs blase and uncaring
one greedy and possessive with all things unsharing.
A man to whom birthright means the world is his
the man known to slander the slinger of shit
no wrong known, or done, by another so smart
the man whose dick ran away with his heart.
A man well-built, knotted and lame
one so unpopular yet they all know his name.
There's the one silent and watchful who knows patience is golden
another who has everything only it's borrowed or stolen.
A dreamer with hopes of a future just right
and a man who sees vengeance in fists held tight.
Why do real men go to war?
Why do real men bounce back for more?
Why do real men like to stay in bed?
Why do real men think chivalry is dead?
Why do real men not think of God?
Why do real men take a friend in a dog?
Why do real men wear women's dresses?
Why do real men read their wives confessions?
Why do real men need a Searchlight?
Why do real men have trouble being bright?
Why do real men drink so much?
Why do real men have a sweaty crutch?
Why do real men like all the sports?
Why do real men cut pajama cords?
Why do real men like to go fishing?
Why do real men say "Gee the water's cold" when they're pissing?
Why do real men drive so fast?
Why do real men want to go last?
Why do real men grow their hair?
Why do real men cry when they're no there?
Why do real men form clubs?
Why do real men own all the pubs?
Why do real men chew gristle and bone?
Why do real men hate the phone?
Why do real men find women attractive?
Why do real men feel attracted to the jacksy?
Why do real men call themselves manly?
Why do real men chastise the saintly?
Why do real men do all the work?
Why do real men clean and jerk?
Why do real men like greasy food?
Why do real men think "Tits and arse" is rude?
Why do real men hate brussel sprouts?
Why do real men avoid the bar-room shouts?
Why do real men stay behind the scenes?
Why do real men ignore the Queen?
Why do real men die all alone?
Why do real men feel cut to the bone?
Why do real men shave in the morning?
Why do real men hear the afternoon's warning?
Why do real men have holes in their socks?
Why do real men have skid-marked jocks?
Why do real men pick their noses?
Why do real men see themselves in garden hoses?
Why do real men feel obliged?
Why do real men know their mates lies?
Why do real men cook at bar-b-cues?
Why do real men leave the seat up in the loo?
Why do real men like the taste of fish?
Why do real men carry the life-long wish?
Why do real men drive big cars?
And lastly
Why do real men always go too far?
To be black velvet and ease her hurt
to take away the loss
to be something else.
They'd grown up so young
now to be no more
to not be allowed to be old and to remember.
She's shaken
and if I could still the tremors with a word or deed I'd earn my spurs and still a dragon forever.
The shock sits heavy.
Time lifts the weight but adds the maybes as memories know the truth.
You lurk in the shadows, the dark parts of my mind
I'd shine for you now if lightness I could find
Press me, preserve me
Taste me, don't waste me
You sit in the corner nursing the glass of your dreams
distance and time we're apart not as far as it seems
Tease me, please me
shove me, but love me
Where did you go with your gang you're away?
You change as I change we're both different each day
Beat me, berate me
believe me, don't leave me
One day the gift arrives outside your door, the next you're gripped by an overwhelming urge to nail yourself Christ-like to a life so full of downs that even sideways would be an alternative.
The gift, like sight only more wondrous, like taste only far more subtle and less prone to teeth-gnashing over bitterness. The sense of hearing unable to approach its richness, while it seems all those unpleasant odours are removed for good.
I've checked the label a hundred times over and still am unable to find the sender.
The wrapping that covered its plain exterior shed, what two going onto three years ago, and as unmissed as the ones caught in its silvery reflection.
Although over watering caused worry when appendages became sodden a good dose of light and a little consideration rekindled the vitality I knew dwelt within.
The gift itself was LIFE.
With footsteps ringing hollow on empty lamp-lit streets
from the shadows a form walks out, the one you're out to meet.
You talked a while, the shuffling stance, as nervous hands founds pockets
then move off to find the place to be while the clock's tick-tocking
Passing by others with the same intent unable to meet your gaze
then you're there with business done in your nakedness do you laze.
The offering up of herself to you as if you're a Earth-locked God
then asked of pleasures and what delights, your answer a single nod
Lost you are away in time, alone the eight limbed beast
you arise for air amid the reeking flesh on which it is you feast.
Outside these walls, the bed itself, all humanity could be dying
but while you're here entwined as one you'll fail to hear their crying.
Why do real men bounce back for more?
Why do real men like to stay in bed?
Why do real men think chivalry is dead?
Why do real men not think of God?
Why do real men take a friend in a dog?
Why do real men wear women's dresses?
Why do real men read their wives confessions?
Why do real men need a Searchlight?
Why do real men have trouble being bright?
Why do real men drink so much?
Why do real men have a sweaty crutch?
Why do real men like all the sports?
Why do real men cut pajama cords?
Why do real men like to go fishing?
Why do real men say "Gee the water's cold" when they're pissing?
Why do real men drive so fast?
Why do real men want to go last?
Why do real men grow their hair?
Why do real men cry when they're no there?
Why do real men form clubs?
Why do real men own all the pubs?
Why do real men chew gristle and bone?
Why do real men hate the phone?
Why do real men find women attractive?
Why do real men feel attracted to the jacksy?
Why do real men call themselves manly?
Why do real men chastise the saintly?
Why do real men do all the work?
Why do real men clean and jerk?
Why do real men like greasy food?
Why do real men think "Tits and arse" is rude?
Why do real men hate brussel sprouts?
Why do real men avoid the bar-room shouts?
Why do real men stay behind the scenes?
Why do real men ignore the Queen?
Why do real men die all alone?
Why do real men feel cut to the bone?
Why do real men shave in the morning?
Why do real men hear the afternoon's warning?
Why do real men have holes in their socks?
Why do real men have skid-marked jocks?
Why do real men pick their noses?
Why do real men see themselves in garden hoses?
Why do real men feel obliged?
Why do real men know their mates lies?
Why do real men cook at bar-b-cues?
Why do real men leave the seat up in the loo?
Why do real men like the taste of fish?
Why do real men carry the life-long wish?
Why do real men drive big cars?
And lastly
Why do real men always go too far?
To be black velvet and ease her hurt
to take away the loss
to be something else.
They'd grown up so young
now to be no more
to not be allowed to be old and to remember.
She's shaken
and if I could still the tremors with a word or deed I'd earn my spurs and still a dragon forever.
The shock sits heavy.
Time lifts the weight but adds the maybes as memories know the truth.
You lurk in the shadows, the dark parts of my mind
I'd shine for you now if lightness I could find
Press me, preserve me
Taste me, don't waste me
You sit in the corner nursing the glass of your dreams
distance and time we're apart not as far as it seems
Tease me, please me
shove me, but love me
Where did you go with your gang you're away?
You change as I change we're both different each day
Beat me, berate me
believe me, don't leave me
One day the gift arrives outside your door, the next you're gripped by an overwhelming urge to nail yourself Christ-like to a life so full of downs that even sideways would be an alternative.
The gift, like sight only more wondrous, like taste only far more subtle and less prone to teeth-gnashing over bitterness. The sense of hearing unable to approach its richness, while it seems all those unpleasant odours are removed for good.
I've checked the label a hundred times over and still am unable to find the sender.
The wrapping that covered its plain exterior shed, what two going onto three years ago, and as unmissed as the ones caught in its silvery reflection.
Although over watering caused worry when appendages became sodden a good dose of light and a little consideration rekindled the vitality I knew dwelt within.
The gift itself was LIFE.
With footsteps ringing hollow on empty lamp-lit streets
from the shadows a form walks out, the one you're out to meet.
You talked a while, the shuffling stance, as nervous hands founds pockets
then move off to find the place to be while the clock's tick-tocking
Passing by others with the same intent unable to meet your gaze
then you're there with business done in your nakedness do you laze.
The offering up of herself to you as if you're a Earth-locked God
then asked of pleasures and what delights, your answer a single nod
Lost you are away in time, alone the eight limbed beast
you arise for air amid the reeking flesh on which it is you feast.
Outside these walls, the bed itself, all humanity could be dying
but while you're here entwined as one you'll fail to hear their crying.
Monday, October 25, 2010
I fucked her all over her house, all over my mind.
The lounge chair, the floor.
I shaved her at the kitchen sink. Her perched like an infant and me as gentle as can be.
She knelt on tiles and put her back to shag pile as I bullied and shoved my love around.
I drank her down and quenched a thirst like no other.
She touched and kissed and raised me from rest.
We held each other to quell the shakes, nose to nose, locked at love.
She licked the tears from my cheeks before they scarred me forever, then drove the brine on her tongue into my mouth as if I'd wilt at the lost fluid.
We watched flames dance and mimicked their licking actions as if our flesh was wood.
Knocks at the door and the telephone were ignored along with time.
I strutted naked and ugly and she applauded.
She walked by, a vision of beauty, and I stood silent in awe of the way the air parted to allow her passage and then merged so slowly to caress her back and shoulders. The breeze sighed her name and kissed her nipples hard.
I took my pen and wrote poetry on her stomach, then read aloud what I'd written and scented her approval, tasted her thanks.
The incense burnt cedar-wood and I could fairly see creatures of the forest scurry and perch, twitter and wrinkle their congratulations.
Yellow spine, cowardly fool
wrapped tight, a tension spool
Toe to toe a fighters dream
tough enough, a child-like scream.
Spill the blood, hunters thirst
poor relation the sacrificed curse.
White feather, cower low
scarless brow, a manhood shows.
Silent twin, sibling scream
shared secrets a tortured dream.
A soul relation, schoolyard talk
shackled minds, the crippled walk.
Trophy chain, smokeless eyes
dismembered thoughts, forgotten lies.
Setting sun, the rising swell
take my hand, gates of Hell.
Stolen life on the bloodied tongue
feed the green, staying young.
Fools left spared wear the idiots grin
Unbending will, the wait within.
His obsession
her stupidity
a match made in Hell.
Her weakness
his violence
through the smoke haze who can tell?
Her trim quim beguiles him
his huge manhood weighs him down
Her thoughts taunt him
he's compared to......
words they spread around town
He is lazy
she is crazy
to lose the nothing on her mind
He's cold
she's feeling old
torn apart what do they find?
He sleeps in one room
she dreams of that room
the dark stranger in her life.
She gets excited
his life is private
just an incident locked in time.
Gang banger
butt fucker
long-time
gutter lover.
Big titted
slow witted
blonde headed
knows it all.
Parasitic
human dip-stick
crying baby
always maybe.
orphan child
black inside
God give me some relief.
Death instructor
hate conductor
"Don't you touch her"
Fragile ego
egg-shell life
soap suds
burn arid eyes.
Open cunted
back to fronted
rear-end shunted
20, seen it all.
Clit licking
pussy sticking
finger touching
away from all the boys.
Socialising
vocalising
the words you want to hear
face down sleeping hides the weeping
love denied a tear.
Too young to love
too old to wait
the time at hand that comes too late.
Late nights walking
soft foot stalking
leave the innocent asleep.
Fatted drunkard the Devils chimney
shared moments do they keep.
Fascist brown shirt
loving wet dirt
no-one gets hurt
"It's a joke you fucking fool"
Sterile grinning
never winning
sins unforgiven
to her neck the widening pool.
Revolving door
a no-fuck whore
pleads for more
goes scheming to her death.
Close handed
money grabbing
back stabbing
she'd steal your final breath.
Carefree riding
digit sliding
always fighting
to stay above the fear
Cheek kissing
public pissing
the vital missing
thoughts go with those not here.
Tied to the bed by desire most carnal
flat-back, legs spread, the stiffness internal
the need to offer up the most private part
the bit non-essential, away from the heart
the bit you piss from and stuff with cotton
smelt in, dwelt in, the part never forgotten
for it leaks and oozes at touches just right
the search for the stiff one, that fit so tight.
It's like trying on shoes, only different sizes fit
and slide on the velvet, so moist and so slick.
Do you play with your clit as they slide in and out?
Do you whimper and moan or cum with a shout?
Harder, faster, the slap and the whack
as it's driven again and again, up and then back.
Eyes open or closed
Do you know his name?
Face in the pillow they feel all the same
just a cock in your cunt and hands on your tits
that patch on the bed both yours and his.
When spent does he talk or roll over and snore?
Does he bang away 'til you're red-raw and sore?
Does the johnny with cum get tossed aside?
Does he lick the juice from inside your thigh?
When you wake from your sleep is he still around
or like the rabbit he's gone to ground?
Because that's how you like it, some in and away
a different time now the sobriety of day.
a notch on the bed-post, a memory to wear
will he tell all his friends or were they all there?
awaiting their turn, the victory scream
awake you are now
relax just a dream.
The lounge chair, the floor.
I shaved her at the kitchen sink. Her perched like an infant and me as gentle as can be.
She knelt on tiles and put her back to shag pile as I bullied and shoved my love around.
I drank her down and quenched a thirst like no other.
She touched and kissed and raised me from rest.
We held each other to quell the shakes, nose to nose, locked at love.
She licked the tears from my cheeks before they scarred me forever, then drove the brine on her tongue into my mouth as if I'd wilt at the lost fluid.
We watched flames dance and mimicked their licking actions as if our flesh was wood.
Knocks at the door and the telephone were ignored along with time.
I strutted naked and ugly and she applauded.
She walked by, a vision of beauty, and I stood silent in awe of the way the air parted to allow her passage and then merged so slowly to caress her back and shoulders. The breeze sighed her name and kissed her nipples hard.
I took my pen and wrote poetry on her stomach, then read aloud what I'd written and scented her approval, tasted her thanks.
The incense burnt cedar-wood and I could fairly see creatures of the forest scurry and perch, twitter and wrinkle their congratulations.
Yellow spine, cowardly fool
wrapped tight, a tension spool
Toe to toe a fighters dream
tough enough, a child-like scream.
Spill the blood, hunters thirst
poor relation the sacrificed curse.
White feather, cower low
scarless brow, a manhood shows.
Silent twin, sibling scream
shared secrets a tortured dream.
A soul relation, schoolyard talk
shackled minds, the crippled walk.
Trophy chain, smokeless eyes
dismembered thoughts, forgotten lies.
Setting sun, the rising swell
take my hand, gates of Hell.
Stolen life on the bloodied tongue
feed the green, staying young.
Fools left spared wear the idiots grin
Unbending will, the wait within.
His obsession
her stupidity
a match made in Hell.
Her weakness
his violence
through the smoke haze who can tell?
Her trim quim beguiles him
his huge manhood weighs him down
Her thoughts taunt him
he's compared to......
words they spread around town
He is lazy
she is crazy
to lose the nothing on her mind
He's cold
she's feeling old
torn apart what do they find?
He sleeps in one room
she dreams of that room
the dark stranger in her life.
She gets excited
his life is private
just an incident locked in time.
Gang banger
butt fucker
long-time
gutter lover.
Big titted
slow witted
blonde headed
knows it all.
Parasitic
human dip-stick
crying baby
always maybe.
orphan child
black inside
God give me some relief.
Death instructor
hate conductor
"Don't you touch her"
Fragile ego
egg-shell life
soap suds
burn arid eyes.
Open cunted
back to fronted
rear-end shunted
20, seen it all.
Clit licking
pussy sticking
finger touching
away from all the boys.
Socialising
vocalising
the words you want to hear
face down sleeping hides the weeping
love denied a tear.
Too young to love
too old to wait
the time at hand that comes too late.
Late nights walking
soft foot stalking
leave the innocent asleep.
Fatted drunkard the Devils chimney
shared moments do they keep.
Fascist brown shirt
loving wet dirt
no-one gets hurt
"It's a joke you fucking fool"
Sterile grinning
never winning
sins unforgiven
to her neck the widening pool.
Revolving door
a no-fuck whore
pleads for more
goes scheming to her death.
Close handed
money grabbing
back stabbing
she'd steal your final breath.
Carefree riding
digit sliding
always fighting
to stay above the fear
Cheek kissing
public pissing
the vital missing
thoughts go with those not here.
Tied to the bed by desire most carnal
flat-back, legs spread, the stiffness internal
the need to offer up the most private part
the bit non-essential, away from the heart
the bit you piss from and stuff with cotton
smelt in, dwelt in, the part never forgotten
for it leaks and oozes at touches just right
the search for the stiff one, that fit so tight.
It's like trying on shoes, only different sizes fit
and slide on the velvet, so moist and so slick.
Do you play with your clit as they slide in and out?
Do you whimper and moan or cum with a shout?
Harder, faster, the slap and the whack
as it's driven again and again, up and then back.
Eyes open or closed
Do you know his name?
Face in the pillow they feel all the same
just a cock in your cunt and hands on your tits
that patch on the bed both yours and his.
When spent does he talk or roll over and snore?
Does he bang away 'til you're red-raw and sore?
Does the johnny with cum get tossed aside?
Does he lick the juice from inside your thigh?
When you wake from your sleep is he still around
or like the rabbit he's gone to ground?
Because that's how you like it, some in and away
a different time now the sobriety of day.
a notch on the bed-post, a memory to wear
will he tell all his friends or were they all there?
awaiting their turn, the victory scream
awake you are now
relax just a dream.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Dear Doctor and your demon friends, you've called in to spend some time with a mind fresh from the streets of desolation.
Crying for a storm with thunder
the rise up from under
and through
cut a swathe
in complacency lay idle, an infant searching legs
unrestrained mobility
close at hand stability.
"Why, why, why"?
sounding off like Delilah.
To find her and hold
and feel the fold where flesh meets flesh
where I and my demons caress, a night and early morning child
smiling a tear runs wild.
In the air the scent of capture now denied with scant regard
the breeze carries whispers far.
If I were to surround myself with a moat
deep, watery, unfordable by all but the stout of heart the centuries might fall away to resemble nothing but scratches on my frame.
Breaths taken and held in apprehension.
When the glare cause a squint, seen as a wink by me in my search for more
before blindness came from between Papal hands and swelled a womb with mistimed love.
The arching beauty caressing a cushion
feather-down and sponge reassure then rearrange a pleasure.
Reptilian scales slide a threat, lost on chastity's unsoiled state of art
wingless and dying the pawn imparts a dying wish bearing scars.
Ancestors applaud
Polite gestures
Polite reward
Unpresuming modesty calls a mirror home and ugliness takes hold behind these eyes that shuffle into shape
and a tongue that flickers in time to a heartbeat
the silent pant engulfing all to satisfy a hunger.
Bottomless starvation
cataclysmic retardation
Don't leave without "Adieu"
this boredom of mine seems right for you
The company of an untouchable.
A bower's nest of borrow and rhyme
85 cents ticks away words in time.
Deathly silent
Silence is death gone serious
Years away yearning a touch, a rise in the tide
darkened avenues find Autumn times.
Fall to gutters as acceptance fell to knees and lost it's head to tyranny
spilt a haze of blood bruised and suffering
Open sores crying poor
the welfare need of more and more
So now you choose to reappear
if with invisibility you have appearance
don't loose yourself in memories.
The haunting comes.
Ghosts run with chains away
unbound, bounding
Is the echo a resounding
or the sound continuing off to a distant ear, still in the head of the me from here?
My warmth thaws your icy calm
My smile so wide
Anger, despair, frustration growing thorns,
crying the tears in black
veiled to hide faces,
to hide intent in places
between mobility's home
where ownership roams.
A siren lays bare skulls, and shadows creak with the movement of bones
fragile, brittle to the touch
flesh wrapped chalk
on haunches like an incontinent cur
spraying all before and after
sooner or later
the sooner the better
better than ever.
"So vague"
"Falling away to nothing"
Come steer my gondola through the canals of a city I've never seen
float my vessel worthy or not
At sea now to sink or sail forever
to find eternity's island just another horizon away.
Repetition stricken with adolescent love
unripe adults greening on the vine.
Speak your mind.
Find respect in the sound of your own voice.
Take the time to ache in the worst of places
as the soothing takes away the age.
Were I to tumble to that lawn so carefully kept, bearing fruit
where the well ripples with life.
Wish I might
My garb
my touch
and my touch of them
now a wonder
The intermittent call of splendour holds me tenderly at the brink of all I'd want
all I'd not have back
Now like the red mosquito of yore, swooping to drain
an existence to yourself
survival through obsession
perched high and away from reality's door but a swat from the end.
I doubt you'll find what you came here for.
No satisfaction.
No glow of achievement
I'm disappointment remember
a non-attaining entity
So sell you extract of the empty
Learn the lesson of the dead
Or did they die in vain
to fill the void
more empty silence amid the great big nothing
all screams internal
sonic scrapes to the skull.
Hide then
as if facade is a safe haven from the truth.
Face paint smiles and frowns
closet stars
eyes burning emeralds growing large at the pulpit
weaving the liquid blanket of almost
talking of knotting knuckles into fists
ineffectual blows to the hardened self.
Burrow away away beneath skin gone to leather with reminiscence
take your fill
leave my spirit rich with universal flight.
Crying for a storm with thunder
the rise up from under
and through
cut a swathe
in complacency lay idle, an infant searching legs
unrestrained mobility
close at hand stability.
"Why, why, why"?
sounding off like Delilah.
To find her and hold
and feel the fold where flesh meets flesh
where I and my demons caress, a night and early morning child
smiling a tear runs wild.
In the air the scent of capture now denied with scant regard
the breeze carries whispers far.
If I were to surround myself with a moat
deep, watery, unfordable by all but the stout of heart the centuries might fall away to resemble nothing but scratches on my frame.
Breaths taken and held in apprehension.
When the glare cause a squint, seen as a wink by me in my search for more
before blindness came from between Papal hands and swelled a womb with mistimed love.
The arching beauty caressing a cushion
feather-down and sponge reassure then rearrange a pleasure.
Reptilian scales slide a threat, lost on chastity's unsoiled state of art
wingless and dying the pawn imparts a dying wish bearing scars.
Ancestors applaud
Polite gestures
Polite reward
Unpresuming modesty calls a mirror home and ugliness takes hold behind these eyes that shuffle into shape
and a tongue that flickers in time to a heartbeat
the silent pant engulfing all to satisfy a hunger.
Bottomless starvation
cataclysmic retardation
Don't leave without "Adieu"
this boredom of mine seems right for you
The company of an untouchable.
A bower's nest of borrow and rhyme
85 cents ticks away words in time.
Deathly silent
Silence is death gone serious
Years away yearning a touch, a rise in the tide
darkened avenues find Autumn times.
Fall to gutters as acceptance fell to knees and lost it's head to tyranny
spilt a haze of blood bruised and suffering
Open sores crying poor
the welfare need of more and more
So now you choose to reappear
if with invisibility you have appearance
don't loose yourself in memories.
The haunting comes.
Ghosts run with chains away
unbound, bounding
Is the echo a resounding
or the sound continuing off to a distant ear, still in the head of the me from here?
My warmth thaws your icy calm
My smile so wide
Anger, despair, frustration growing thorns,
crying the tears in black
veiled to hide faces,
to hide intent in places
between mobility's home
where ownership roams.
A siren lays bare skulls, and shadows creak with the movement of bones
fragile, brittle to the touch
flesh wrapped chalk
on haunches like an incontinent cur
spraying all before and after
sooner or later
the sooner the better
better than ever.
"So vague"
"Falling away to nothing"
Come steer my gondola through the canals of a city I've never seen
float my vessel worthy or not
At sea now to sink or sail forever
to find eternity's island just another horizon away.
Repetition stricken with adolescent love
unripe adults greening on the vine.
Speak your mind.
Find respect in the sound of your own voice.
Take the time to ache in the worst of places
as the soothing takes away the age.
Were I to tumble to that lawn so carefully kept, bearing fruit
where the well ripples with life.
Wish I might
My garb
my touch
and my touch of them
now a wonder
The intermittent call of splendour holds me tenderly at the brink of all I'd want
all I'd not have back
Now like the red mosquito of yore, swooping to drain
an existence to yourself
survival through obsession
perched high and away from reality's door but a swat from the end.
I doubt you'll find what you came here for.
No satisfaction.
No glow of achievement
I'm disappointment remember
a non-attaining entity
So sell you extract of the empty
Learn the lesson of the dead
Or did they die in vain
to fill the void
more empty silence amid the great big nothing
all screams internal
sonic scrapes to the skull.
Hide then
as if facade is a safe haven from the truth.
Face paint smiles and frowns
closet stars
eyes burning emeralds growing large at the pulpit
weaving the liquid blanket of almost
talking of knotting knuckles into fists
ineffectual blows to the hardened self.
Burrow away away beneath skin gone to leather with reminiscence
take your fill
leave my spirit rich with universal flight.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
In the semi-darkness they perch vulture-like atop the black that never knew life. Their necks are craned for a better view of their intended.
Drool escapes their limp orifices and stains the clothing that does nothing to hide their naked ambition.
With a flap of featherless limbs, long since redundant, on a body unknown to flight, one shifts and is at my side.It's breath stale and reeking of death.
It's almost like it wishes to peck at my sanity whilst awaiting the day it can feast on a brain gone dead.
"Why doesn't it choose to pick the fat from my bones"?
It squawks and wails as if in pain when I make a move to leave.
Is that a tear in it's bloodshot eye as it notes my drink is non-alcoholic?
I wonder "Do I insult it's imposition with my uncaring ignorance"?
It almost manages a smile, but in a face that holds no teeth only affects the display of a hollow grimace.
Clutched in a gnarled, leathery talon the stick that brings the long awaited death to itself, the suffering somehow prolonged by it's certainty.
Is this a place or time?
Neither or both?
Fatallah wobbles last nights cheese-cake belly below a fringe of sequins and the ever ready bear drummers amplify Constantinople in the spray of a veteran fountain doing it's best to wet an Orlando bladder fully into kick-back mode.
The King Island camembert and cheap house-brand cheddar wrestle for attention on the squared-off oval of sterling-silver.
Between sharp cuts from a serrated would-be Wiltshire with chilli-speckled sheaths awaiting consumption, well crafted goblets of the latest in flash-moulded, non-etched, 30 to a dollar kind, shuddered at the thought of how tomorrow will be for a fifty-something Agatha doing her best to gratis her fill.
The holiday sun and pre-teens in orange and green foil-wrap have drawn out the smirks in full and between portrait 96 and a trio of landscapes the order of a special bouquet drifts along merrily.
"Lick my Pluto pup, and I'll pat my thanks on your plaited hair-piece like a jungle drummer warning of a white-man's poaching"
The razor-cut of sharp water drew breath as a lock opened and furnace heat melted company to mere memories.
The urge killed pretensions and scrawling along the thin blue was a silent voice always aware of tone, characterisation and an eventual climax, just as predicted on page 3 of that 5 page epic about a hotel where Diaphanous or some other form of contraception soured a spinster's delusions to the extent of venomous correspondence.
Celery waded with carrots and capsicum splashed wildly in the puddle of Italian dressing that bathed lunch in adventurous divergence.
Sit silent and hide behind the foliage pre-library and ponder taps and flapping thighs.
The sleeping partner took to flight about now and while the spindly biker tried to kick-start a wife and 3 kids, 3 kids with two mothers did Aladdin, on a big screen, with 1 o'clock promises to a jocular wet-spot on the horizon.
A proboscis rested on a lower lip dripping want and good times to a staid floral-robed dinosaur hiding behind 21 years as a paper-boy in an effort to shed 4 carats of promise and a life-time of expectation.
Publish and be damned. Then stand and taunt with your over-publicised, under-dressed novellas of hard-bodies, twilight beaches and bothersome 8 year-olds who have found being seen is just not sufficient to feed a syndrome locked in deficit, and that not being heard won't sling them a 140 for a top of the line yo-yo that plays itself so well it knows where to piss, sans training.
Take the coast-road through some bad tv and see if Quincy really knew his mild-mannered assistant doubled as a hoop for quoits on the Love Boat. Third quoit from the front, at the junction of if 6 was 8 in another time frame altogether he stood, hardly noticing the sweat-streak in mascara wanted dead or alive for 15 years of disco murder in the most industrialised nation on Earth.
There's no doubting the filthy smiles brought by the filthy lucre of no feelings and no fun all gassed up for a Belsen submission. So hold all showers and stay to the left all those intent on using astrology and other forms of star-gazing as guides to life-styles.
Under the charred remains of a cool ash the nodules gathered souls like ghost-towns take tumbleweeds for granted and a tuber-root proved that dead-wood can float.
When a knock-kneed gent shuffled aside at the slightest touch a puce shirt flared pink and a city's air flared the eyes to a red-raw strain.
"That bastard fly blazed a dark trail through my vision and dared to circle the Kong atop his brushed-wool arm-chair empire state".
Hot and bright gives way to evening and sweltering, and the Rock takes a break and grooves into rhythm with the blues so bad it could almost be cool enough for jazz.
"Chew down and pick teeth with a fracture of the tree, a splinter of trunk".
Did she raise the green jacket of a champion to expose a jiggling butt cleft by the latest in hugging, sliding, "I can feel myself dampening by the minute" lingerie intentionally or is that funnel in her lower back finding the going a little bit too tough?
Please turn down the dry
Please turn up the volume.
Take up the volume.
Take up the slack.
Who'd have them take a suppository of dominance?
A bath of soapy-suds sat grinning insanely at the prospect of complete control over anal canals and colons, with a nurse rubbered-up to a pre-talced love of the disastrous.
All the tough boys lined the walls above "unwanted" or "distrusted" and clenched fists about penis-envy and how much a life of crime might be worth in the hero stakes.
The handicappers had seen the work of possible starters and informed their criminal connections that a nobbling was required.
On all fours in shop-windows and under bar-towels stolen on a whim he wished white-collar tags "All the best" as the shifting weight of albatross to vultures of cartoon-purple wiped feet below dripping sexes on the best endeavours a man has to offer.
Burn like the sandal would if you were a loose pair of cotton panties about the ankles catching eyes on the breeze and numbering off lost fingers to misdirected hate.
A mother knows a sister's dilemma and the in-laws order 1 egg, tunneled and cavernous, for their edification and canonisation totally for the cause, of course.
Celebrate the girl-next-door's maturing to womanhood with a hard-on stiff and yearning.
Pop well-boiled cookies over nothing to nowhere and feel light years from death on the cooling embers of loneliness.
Intimate details rattled around a child's play-pen and the scream for a nipple to stick to drove home like the final nail in an already sealed, buried, exhumed for proof and re-interred, coffin resting snugly in the adopted's mausoleum of ad nauseum ad infinitum.
Tight jeans shifted over death and hardened eyes pulled grey-check apart from such close proximity that a crack in the footpath was heard to moan under the weight of a shifted stance.
"Stand still", the beat in a heart fluttering an attack now months old and occupying precious space on an inky rag.
When the sun don't shine organ man the monkey takes back all privileges for divestment amongst the hordes feasting on peanut-shells and off-key comparisons to an icon burning a sugar mountain down around ember ears.
"Share a gusset-secret back seat acrobat".
"Mother is only jealously matching snap-shots with the misappropriated beauties at her disposal".
The steel-city Masada fell with nary a whimper and Herods called on beasts from hell to deal with an interloper causing mannequins to smile tears the crocodile would have snapped in an instant.
Between the sounds of insects and the working of my 85-cent clock the silence doesn't stand a chance.
"Dance on you flickering fool to my incendiary device".
"Burn oxygen from my patch of breath".
Sleep looms but won't take me up to it's bosom. It fears my transgression and allows snippets only to filter back to wakefulness.
"What do you sip from your bottle that makes your smile so broad and your feet so hardy as to cope with burning concrete"?
"More of the same in the cold of a dead-night will stop the chills rising from an ice-block altar".
A wallowing wildebeast checked receipts for identity and placed a month's notice on a handful of cold hard plastic bound for blood-stream satisfaction and cerebral liberation.
Count the twists in the spine as hope shrivels on a stick over fires of eviction and long-held ramifications.
In a rush to hit the wall unseen, with not one but a dozen insane palms itching the death on her back, baying at invisible moons, she had lied and cried a million miles of phone calls, all Santa unanswered with charity denied.
"No free invites from this establishment I'm afraid"
"Try across the road, they do a wonderful line of heart-felt thanks"
A used car salesman paged another beer from the fridge as a customer strolled toward rust-bucket Ford, unaware of his secretaries secret lust for desk-tops and closed venetians. From the clippings clustered on the floor she'd been able to amass enough of nothing to engorge labia and harden nipples forever, then rolled over and played dead to a necrophiliacs urge to feel maggots eat out the eye of his cock.
The living-dead roll ceaselessly through eternity and take turns at raising faint hope on faint lines, in faint out of the way sanctuaries so as not to alarm any but the understanding.
"No comprende una diablo"
"Si. Espanol"
The insect Quixote and the salted Margarita swapped spit as a testament to the birth of chaos and the unheralded return of a well-to-do future.
Drool escapes their limp orifices and stains the clothing that does nothing to hide their naked ambition.
With a flap of featherless limbs, long since redundant, on a body unknown to flight, one shifts and is at my side.It's breath stale and reeking of death.
It's almost like it wishes to peck at my sanity whilst awaiting the day it can feast on a brain gone dead.
"Why doesn't it choose to pick the fat from my bones"?
It squawks and wails as if in pain when I make a move to leave.
Is that a tear in it's bloodshot eye as it notes my drink is non-alcoholic?
I wonder "Do I insult it's imposition with my uncaring ignorance"?
It almost manages a smile, but in a face that holds no teeth only affects the display of a hollow grimace.
Clutched in a gnarled, leathery talon the stick that brings the long awaited death to itself, the suffering somehow prolonged by it's certainty.
Is this a place or time?
Neither or both?
Fatallah wobbles last nights cheese-cake belly below a fringe of sequins and the ever ready bear drummers amplify Constantinople in the spray of a veteran fountain doing it's best to wet an Orlando bladder fully into kick-back mode.
The King Island camembert and cheap house-brand cheddar wrestle for attention on the squared-off oval of sterling-silver.
Between sharp cuts from a serrated would-be Wiltshire with chilli-speckled sheaths awaiting consumption, well crafted goblets of the latest in flash-moulded, non-etched, 30 to a dollar kind, shuddered at the thought of how tomorrow will be for a fifty-something Agatha doing her best to gratis her fill.
The holiday sun and pre-teens in orange and green foil-wrap have drawn out the smirks in full and between portrait 96 and a trio of landscapes the order of a special bouquet drifts along merrily.
"Lick my Pluto pup, and I'll pat my thanks on your plaited hair-piece like a jungle drummer warning of a white-man's poaching"
The razor-cut of sharp water drew breath as a lock opened and furnace heat melted company to mere memories.
The urge killed pretensions and scrawling along the thin blue was a silent voice always aware of tone, characterisation and an eventual climax, just as predicted on page 3 of that 5 page epic about a hotel where Diaphanous or some other form of contraception soured a spinster's delusions to the extent of venomous correspondence.
Celery waded with carrots and capsicum splashed wildly in the puddle of Italian dressing that bathed lunch in adventurous divergence.
Sit silent and hide behind the foliage pre-library and ponder taps and flapping thighs.
The sleeping partner took to flight about now and while the spindly biker tried to kick-start a wife and 3 kids, 3 kids with two mothers did Aladdin, on a big screen, with 1 o'clock promises to a jocular wet-spot on the horizon.
A proboscis rested on a lower lip dripping want and good times to a staid floral-robed dinosaur hiding behind 21 years as a paper-boy in an effort to shed 4 carats of promise and a life-time of expectation.
Publish and be damned. Then stand and taunt with your over-publicised, under-dressed novellas of hard-bodies, twilight beaches and bothersome 8 year-olds who have found being seen is just not sufficient to feed a syndrome locked in deficit, and that not being heard won't sling them a 140 for a top of the line yo-yo that plays itself so well it knows where to piss, sans training.
Take the coast-road through some bad tv and see if Quincy really knew his mild-mannered assistant doubled as a hoop for quoits on the Love Boat. Third quoit from the front, at the junction of if 6 was 8 in another time frame altogether he stood, hardly noticing the sweat-streak in mascara wanted dead or alive for 15 years of disco murder in the most industrialised nation on Earth.
There's no doubting the filthy smiles brought by the filthy lucre of no feelings and no fun all gassed up for a Belsen submission. So hold all showers and stay to the left all those intent on using astrology and other forms of star-gazing as guides to life-styles.
Under the charred remains of a cool ash the nodules gathered souls like ghost-towns take tumbleweeds for granted and a tuber-root proved that dead-wood can float.
When a knock-kneed gent shuffled aside at the slightest touch a puce shirt flared pink and a city's air flared the eyes to a red-raw strain.
"That bastard fly blazed a dark trail through my vision and dared to circle the Kong atop his brushed-wool arm-chair empire state".
Hot and bright gives way to evening and sweltering, and the Rock takes a break and grooves into rhythm with the blues so bad it could almost be cool enough for jazz.
"Chew down and pick teeth with a fracture of the tree, a splinter of trunk".
Did she raise the green jacket of a champion to expose a jiggling butt cleft by the latest in hugging, sliding, "I can feel myself dampening by the minute" lingerie intentionally or is that funnel in her lower back finding the going a little bit too tough?
Please turn down the dry
Please turn up the volume.
Take up the volume.
Take up the slack.
Who'd have them take a suppository of dominance?
A bath of soapy-suds sat grinning insanely at the prospect of complete control over anal canals and colons, with a nurse rubbered-up to a pre-talced love of the disastrous.
All the tough boys lined the walls above "unwanted" or "distrusted" and clenched fists about penis-envy and how much a life of crime might be worth in the hero stakes.
The handicappers had seen the work of possible starters and informed their criminal connections that a nobbling was required.
On all fours in shop-windows and under bar-towels stolen on a whim he wished white-collar tags "All the best" as the shifting weight of albatross to vultures of cartoon-purple wiped feet below dripping sexes on the best endeavours a man has to offer.
Burn like the sandal would if you were a loose pair of cotton panties about the ankles catching eyes on the breeze and numbering off lost fingers to misdirected hate.
A mother knows a sister's dilemma and the in-laws order 1 egg, tunneled and cavernous, for their edification and canonisation totally for the cause, of course.
Celebrate the girl-next-door's maturing to womanhood with a hard-on stiff and yearning.
Pop well-boiled cookies over nothing to nowhere and feel light years from death on the cooling embers of loneliness.
Intimate details rattled around a child's play-pen and the scream for a nipple to stick to drove home like the final nail in an already sealed, buried, exhumed for proof and re-interred, coffin resting snugly in the adopted's mausoleum of ad nauseum ad infinitum.
Tight jeans shifted over death and hardened eyes pulled grey-check apart from such close proximity that a crack in the footpath was heard to moan under the weight of a shifted stance.
"Stand still", the beat in a heart fluttering an attack now months old and occupying precious space on an inky rag.
When the sun don't shine organ man the monkey takes back all privileges for divestment amongst the hordes feasting on peanut-shells and off-key comparisons to an icon burning a sugar mountain down around ember ears.
"Share a gusset-secret back seat acrobat".
"Mother is only jealously matching snap-shots with the misappropriated beauties at her disposal".
The steel-city Masada fell with nary a whimper and Herods called on beasts from hell to deal with an interloper causing mannequins to smile tears the crocodile would have snapped in an instant.
Between the sounds of insects and the working of my 85-cent clock the silence doesn't stand a chance.
"Dance on you flickering fool to my incendiary device".
"Burn oxygen from my patch of breath".
Sleep looms but won't take me up to it's bosom. It fears my transgression and allows snippets only to filter back to wakefulness.
"What do you sip from your bottle that makes your smile so broad and your feet so hardy as to cope with burning concrete"?
"More of the same in the cold of a dead-night will stop the chills rising from an ice-block altar".
A wallowing wildebeast checked receipts for identity and placed a month's notice on a handful of cold hard plastic bound for blood-stream satisfaction and cerebral liberation.
Count the twists in the spine as hope shrivels on a stick over fires of eviction and long-held ramifications.
In a rush to hit the wall unseen, with not one but a dozen insane palms itching the death on her back, baying at invisible moons, she had lied and cried a million miles of phone calls, all Santa unanswered with charity denied.
"No free invites from this establishment I'm afraid"
"Try across the road, they do a wonderful line of heart-felt thanks"
A used car salesman paged another beer from the fridge as a customer strolled toward rust-bucket Ford, unaware of his secretaries secret lust for desk-tops and closed venetians. From the clippings clustered on the floor she'd been able to amass enough of nothing to engorge labia and harden nipples forever, then rolled over and played dead to a necrophiliacs urge to feel maggots eat out the eye of his cock.
The living-dead roll ceaselessly through eternity and take turns at raising faint hope on faint lines, in faint out of the way sanctuaries so as not to alarm any but the understanding.
"No comprende una diablo"
"Si. Espanol"
The insect Quixote and the salted Margarita swapped spit as a testament to the birth of chaos and the unheralded return of a well-to-do future.
Friday, October 1, 2010
A sweet-soul-sister nursed the whiskey and milk while a blue-suited centurion bled Medusa tears.
"Sweet mother forgive me for I have done no wrong. The rapist was but a replica, nothing but a face-less ghost lost in the victim's mind".
The strung beauty sings to fill caverns
the black-box tells all, a lonely survivor when all flights fail.
Drip the sweat like sand
watch the dark-headed ibis as it picks at flesh not yet dead
tasteless and tough.
In darkened corridors of skin strewn truth, like misplaced trophies, grotesque accessories.
Tell me Alabama Miss how far you drove to Hell
Tell me Louisiana Slim do you think they'd all like to tell?
Can my hands find 4, no 5, now going to 6
with dawns arrival like a dagger through sanity's heart
Filth pig ministry
space pig visionary
sty-bound porcine in a love-nest solitude
wasted perspiration stained pages
depths so cold, full of transparent life
glowing
consuming
vanishing at Cousteau bubbles
vanquished beneath a liquid smock.
Non-chemical, non-laziness pushes a pencil with a mind almost it's own.
The silent purity takes it's fill, stays silent and never smiles.
When they could have swung they forced grins, followed leads and waited for an audience.
The peddler warned of rabbit-traps.
Sand dunes an eyeful, a barrier to a view.
White crests so far out as to be in some-one else's world.
They'd be within mine could I wish that far
could I hold a dream that long.
Did I spy flotsam become a raft, afloat, loosely trussed?
The bard wore the grave like a skirt, saw beauty in the simplicity, the realisation of pain.
Conquer oneself as oneself becomes a part of the whole.
They fake a dance while serpents bound up stairways with wealth in hand to share moments as one with the willing.
The night roars at the lonely, who roar back through clenched teeth.
Sing "Sweet chariot"
carry well the hopes balanced about your axis
carry home to me
carry mountains to prophets for the construction of islands.
A stranger quotes of petals and fuses, trees buried in time, while the chant for more builds optimism from air in lungs and sorrowless hearts.
Feel free to rejoice
rejoice to feel free.
Again the night roars.
I face my lion in a den of my own choosing
no Caesar to thumb up or down
no Helen or Cleopatra scheming seduction so sweet and fine.
"Slip me the asp poison, watch me wither on the vine"
In a room without holes in the walls sin slides easily into view in a vain search for a sanctuary.
I'd offer my words, it wouldn't be enough
my time wouldn't quench the need
Mock bondage lures false hope, draws out the best and leaves the rest to please themselves
myths sit on shelves gathering dust, a testament to their age and authenticity.
Beneath my skin I shudder as if consumed post-death by a pit full of the soil's finest somehow risen through my erect condition.
Walk with me to the edge of life, where death she waits
arms out like Mother's,
bosom warm and heaving with maternal pride.
Glimpse a chance of Utopia sinking slowly through a rising pool
Hold my face dear at the last.
I'll know
I'll carry you on
a trekker to your guide, the voice of your spirit.
I'll taste your bitterness and know your frustrations.
How close and yet so far?
Can we feel the warm wind dry the sweat or straighten crooked smiles?
Too late to take back harsh words, to shield the long-gone stares.
Can we retrace the steps that brought us together, that brought us here?
Where we go or stay.
To stay or go?
You spoke the words that broke the heart and choked the throat that lied
You took the vow of the when and how and left a world that died
To make the fist with the bloodied palm as hatred burns you up
You saw the real, the fanatical zeal, with burnt eyes that never shut
Do you feel the urge to binge and purge, took to refuge so far away
Time passed you by, you felt them die, behind words you couldn't say
Sweated up little funky thing
I see you dance , I see you sing
you swish and sway with a touch just right
I see you bathed in dawn's red light.
Heated hunger knows no bounds
say it here, say it loud
take me in, enfold my pride
silence rules from a mouth held wide.
Flesh-pot honey on burning skin
kept for me, love not sin.
A hummingbird at the blossom of life
sweet sensation of taste and sight.
An explosion of passion an eruption of guilt
down again, deeper still
pounding, pleading, a call for more
touching home, the molten core.
Brewing up a "Haha" as if "Haha" is all you get
You'll come up dry, no chance of coming up wet.
Less chance of going down
a wetness felt, unlikely to drown
smelt, tasted, the musky dew
it tells the difference between me and you.
I felt you
I saw you
I tasted your smile
You kissed me
I loved you
You dwelt a while
The noise, the confusion, from inside not out.
You whispered, I misheard, my deafness a shout
repeated, cheated, deceptive as Hell
eyes bulging, mouth gaping, tongue flapping, no yell.
Some-one told me once over my 12th beer that Jesus never slept much
crying his life away.
A siren strutted the foot-path chic all unclad breasts and bare-arsed cheek.
The fucking dog howled, drove the bubbles away
howled in to the evening as we killed another day.
The couple over there handshaking lies
the best friend watches them dying, starts putting coins in their eyes.
The green felt of home and the "clink" of china orbs recalls more than I have the right to.
Black-balled
Black-balled again
Black-balled again
They painted the walls, buried memories under coats of the latest five paint mix
the words scrawled by the desperate when the desperate need to piss.
A stumbling pin-cushion left his world behind
sat it on a ledge like a threatened suicide
How cool
How cool
How slow fool
I'd call them women and insult the word
another canine shares bed-space with a girl.
The blue glowing concoction like a love-potion brew
A wicked witch
a sleeping beauty
all here from dusk 'til noon.
Look at the way the moths kill the light
they cast their shadows, take all the heat.
Another beer looks like dying to another killer's thirst
another dream is over
another bubble's burst.
A neighbour talks up memories and buries a life in a pit full of words meaning nothing more than my very own.
"Show me the photos then"
satisfy your mind
"Another drink"?
I'm sure I'll find the time
She'd chat up a bourbon, leave a book cover down and unread
like the one from before crying tears in bed.
That family on the tv mounted trophy like above the stains
they're all here, it's Wednesday again
come the Thursday rush it'll be just him and me
she'll be gone to her perch to titter and preen
to count feathers in a boa about a neck sitting like pearls
the constriction hardly felt
she fingers her curls
drains the ginger all whining
and slides a stool so an uncle can give some warmth through mere proximity.
A human juke-box strikes up a mess
a world away the parents undress
spend afternoons humping away restrictions
an appointment with Grandmother, they're busy making decisions.
Can you hear the pinball machine scream it's name?
Drink another one down hide the public's shame.
Drink another one downplay the public's game.
Back to that insomniac from the beer before last
I kiss the stone as I kiss the past
as I kissed her that night.
She moaned, called me "Baby, baby'
"Don't go. Come on baby"
So well rehearsed, promising of love.
The young girl on a beach now cradling hours in chilled palms
her unmuscular arms couldn't hold a dream let alone another me.
Let alone another me
Let alone another me
And left alone another me could find comfort on any bosom
nursed there like a child crying back the years
nursed there like a child holding back the fear
nursed there like child, making sure I got my monies worth
While the walls ears and the doors eyes held secrecy first
before the cab ride
wrapped in Xmas lights of neon, all names and instruction
my vision blurred by the pace of my flight, then distinct and as painful as my destination.
I thought I heard the dog howl again.
It could have been any dog.
It could have been a memory howling for my blood
any penance I now incur far short of all crimes
no forgiveness.
"Oh Lord" my own slow demise mirrors them all
I'm no God, no angel, no haunting demon in dust
I'm just another, alone, haunted by lust.
Send me a sinner
we'll have dinner.
She can have wine, I'll take the water of life
I'll drink from her fountain.
This reverie feels out of place in a tomb where the dead hold court
In the scene where the catchphrase is "Absence of thought".
"Sweet mother forgive me for I have done no wrong. The rapist was but a replica, nothing but a face-less ghost lost in the victim's mind".
The strung beauty sings to fill caverns
the black-box tells all, a lonely survivor when all flights fail.
Drip the sweat like sand
watch the dark-headed ibis as it picks at flesh not yet dead
tasteless and tough.
In darkened corridors of skin strewn truth, like misplaced trophies, grotesque accessories.
Tell me Alabama Miss how far you drove to Hell
Tell me Louisiana Slim do you think they'd all like to tell?
Can my hands find 4, no 5, now going to 6
with dawns arrival like a dagger through sanity's heart
Filth pig ministry
space pig visionary
sty-bound porcine in a love-nest solitude
wasted perspiration stained pages
depths so cold, full of transparent life
glowing
consuming
vanishing at Cousteau bubbles
vanquished beneath a liquid smock.
Non-chemical, non-laziness pushes a pencil with a mind almost it's own.
The silent purity takes it's fill, stays silent and never smiles.
When they could have swung they forced grins, followed leads and waited for an audience.
The peddler warned of rabbit-traps.
Sand dunes an eyeful, a barrier to a view.
White crests so far out as to be in some-one else's world.
They'd be within mine could I wish that far
could I hold a dream that long.
Did I spy flotsam become a raft, afloat, loosely trussed?
The bard wore the grave like a skirt, saw beauty in the simplicity, the realisation of pain.
Conquer oneself as oneself becomes a part of the whole.
They fake a dance while serpents bound up stairways with wealth in hand to share moments as one with the willing.
The night roars at the lonely, who roar back through clenched teeth.
Sing "Sweet chariot"
carry well the hopes balanced about your axis
carry home to me
carry mountains to prophets for the construction of islands.
A stranger quotes of petals and fuses, trees buried in time, while the chant for more builds optimism from air in lungs and sorrowless hearts.
Feel free to rejoice
rejoice to feel free.
Again the night roars.
I face my lion in a den of my own choosing
no Caesar to thumb up or down
no Helen or Cleopatra scheming seduction so sweet and fine.
"Slip me the asp poison, watch me wither on the vine"
In a room without holes in the walls sin slides easily into view in a vain search for a sanctuary.
I'd offer my words, it wouldn't be enough
my time wouldn't quench the need
Mock bondage lures false hope, draws out the best and leaves the rest to please themselves
myths sit on shelves gathering dust, a testament to their age and authenticity.
Beneath my skin I shudder as if consumed post-death by a pit full of the soil's finest somehow risen through my erect condition.
Walk with me to the edge of life, where death she waits
arms out like Mother's,
bosom warm and heaving with maternal pride.
Glimpse a chance of Utopia sinking slowly through a rising pool
Hold my face dear at the last.
I'll know
I'll carry you on
a trekker to your guide, the voice of your spirit.
I'll taste your bitterness and know your frustrations.
How close and yet so far?
Can we feel the warm wind dry the sweat or straighten crooked smiles?
Too late to take back harsh words, to shield the long-gone stares.
Can we retrace the steps that brought us together, that brought us here?
Where we go or stay.
To stay or go?
You spoke the words that broke the heart and choked the throat that lied
You took the vow of the when and how and left a world that died
To make the fist with the bloodied palm as hatred burns you up
You saw the real, the fanatical zeal, with burnt eyes that never shut
Do you feel the urge to binge and purge, took to refuge so far away
Time passed you by, you felt them die, behind words you couldn't say
Sweated up little funky thing
I see you dance , I see you sing
you swish and sway with a touch just right
I see you bathed in dawn's red light.
Heated hunger knows no bounds
say it here, say it loud
take me in, enfold my pride
silence rules from a mouth held wide.
Flesh-pot honey on burning skin
kept for me, love not sin.
A hummingbird at the blossom of life
sweet sensation of taste and sight.
An explosion of passion an eruption of guilt
down again, deeper still
pounding, pleading, a call for more
touching home, the molten core.
Brewing up a "Haha" as if "Haha" is all you get
You'll come up dry, no chance of coming up wet.
Less chance of going down
a wetness felt, unlikely to drown
smelt, tasted, the musky dew
it tells the difference between me and you.
I felt you
I saw you
I tasted your smile
You kissed me
I loved you
You dwelt a while
The noise, the confusion, from inside not out.
You whispered, I misheard, my deafness a shout
repeated, cheated, deceptive as Hell
eyes bulging, mouth gaping, tongue flapping, no yell.
Some-one told me once over my 12th beer that Jesus never slept much
crying his life away.
A siren strutted the foot-path chic all unclad breasts and bare-arsed cheek.
The fucking dog howled, drove the bubbles away
howled in to the evening as we killed another day.
The couple over there handshaking lies
the best friend watches them dying, starts putting coins in their eyes.
The green felt of home and the "clink" of china orbs recalls more than I have the right to.
Black-balled
Black-balled again
Black-balled again
They painted the walls, buried memories under coats of the latest five paint mix
the words scrawled by the desperate when the desperate need to piss.
A stumbling pin-cushion left his world behind
sat it on a ledge like a threatened suicide
How cool
How cool
How slow fool
I'd call them women and insult the word
another canine shares bed-space with a girl.
The blue glowing concoction like a love-potion brew
A wicked witch
a sleeping beauty
all here from dusk 'til noon.
Look at the way the moths kill the light
they cast their shadows, take all the heat.
Another beer looks like dying to another killer's thirst
another dream is over
another bubble's burst.
A neighbour talks up memories and buries a life in a pit full of words meaning nothing more than my very own.
"Show me the photos then"
satisfy your mind
"Another drink"?
I'm sure I'll find the time
She'd chat up a bourbon, leave a book cover down and unread
like the one from before crying tears in bed.
That family on the tv mounted trophy like above the stains
they're all here, it's Wednesday again
come the Thursday rush it'll be just him and me
she'll be gone to her perch to titter and preen
to count feathers in a boa about a neck sitting like pearls
the constriction hardly felt
she fingers her curls
drains the ginger all whining
and slides a stool so an uncle can give some warmth through mere proximity.
A human juke-box strikes up a mess
a world away the parents undress
spend afternoons humping away restrictions
an appointment with Grandmother, they're busy making decisions.
Can you hear the pinball machine scream it's name?
Drink another one down hide the public's shame.
Drink another one downplay the public's game.
Back to that insomniac from the beer before last
I kiss the stone as I kiss the past
as I kissed her that night.
She moaned, called me "Baby, baby'
"Don't go. Come on baby"
So well rehearsed, promising of love.
The young girl on a beach now cradling hours in chilled palms
her unmuscular arms couldn't hold a dream let alone another me.
Let alone another me
Let alone another me
And left alone another me could find comfort on any bosom
nursed there like a child crying back the years
nursed there like a child holding back the fear
nursed there like child, making sure I got my monies worth
While the walls ears and the doors eyes held secrecy first
before the cab ride
wrapped in Xmas lights of neon, all names and instruction
my vision blurred by the pace of my flight, then distinct and as painful as my destination.
I thought I heard the dog howl again.
It could have been any dog.
It could have been a memory howling for my blood
any penance I now incur far short of all crimes
no forgiveness.
"Oh Lord" my own slow demise mirrors them all
I'm no God, no angel, no haunting demon in dust
I'm just another, alone, haunted by lust.
Send me a sinner
we'll have dinner.
She can have wine, I'll take the water of life
I'll drink from her fountain.
This reverie feels out of place in a tomb where the dead hold court
In the scene where the catchphrase is "Absence of thought".
Friday, September 17, 2010
Dropped a coin in a buzzing beast
pressed numbers, searched for release
dial-tone like an empty bed
Taste sweet rejection.
See the red on the razor's edge
stare down at the mess you've made
better you than a dead man
Taste sweet rejection.
Forgiven sin blows a still night air
kneel low to avoid the stare
a chill wind shrinks a twisted spine
Taste sweet rejection.
Lost love played on the Devil's hand
cards down with the Joker's grin
drew back, wrapped a world in shame
Taste sweet rejection.
Black dinosaur on the Atlantis dome
drawn curtains to shield the glare
wipes the smile from a proud man's face
Taste sweet rejection.
Take a rest to the sound of chiding
jocular remembering of the worst job I ever had.
Memories fly back, of the stumbling-mumble to a gravel-strained lie
They spat the poppies-cum into an open hole and "Oohed" and "Aahed" in silence.
Tilted, jilted
in my sodden state, when all hope had wilted.
Let them fall to the floor and die with their heroes
Let them find a corner of a legend
Love tore them apart and cost them $50 every time
Like unturned pages they yellowed and battled on regardless.
Communal living, sharing expenses
The unsaid truths, with years as fences.
Pick up where the mind left-off and watch them raise daisies at the foot of tears.
Sitting round a drink talking about my past
living a history repeat
dreaming a shortened breath.
It came walking to a quick-step halt
picking up pieces without bending down
clutched a life tight as Mother so blue, Mary crystal-clean.
Stop the forgiveness smile, for once a grimace.
Sliding faces follow suit
burning thoughts quenched by thirst, taken and laid to rest.
It's night-time now
splinters of the chill
cataracts of thought
too late to start the day again.
With finger on trigger an inch from delight
pleasures known to you alone
lay back as mind takes flight.
A gentle squeeze
now so at ease, at peace and all as one
safe away, your sanctuary
the reason why you've come
your fantasy, your dream come true, what burns you up inside
the hidden part, forgotten lies
the part you just can't hide
you clear them here with gentle grip, with palms that bead with sweat
then when you're done all that remains are memories in a pool so wet.
In the pub with no heart souls leap from glass to glass in the search for a home
the spirit of '76 came twice a night
all sticky and wasted alone.
Loners cradle company
the company thins until a cradle feels lonely once more.
In the pub with no heart the turned backs and raised hands salute more than authority
ginger-haired smoke-stacks regale all with well rehearsed one-liners
the audience agog with the consumer's awe.
Such celebrities
such minor talents.
In the pub with no heart the seeds of a million romances dry to infertility on floors long unwashed
children drop innocence for ownership
teens sit on 25 until 40 kicks a hole in pretence.
The names and faces change while the scenery and conversation is as predictable as ever
In the pub with no heart.
The blood-red Pegasus sits in flames through unopened windows
alcohol dilutes fears and dreams
blood and bruises prove he's alive
violence the effect of his cause
Proudly proclaiming to friends of his value
"Drinks all round"
"Drinks all round".
They toast his generosity as they toasted his defeat
he toasts his well tried endurance.
"Are you crazy"?
"Are you crazy"?
"Do you live the exciting life"?
Cheques on which they scrawled fame
that turned green
that was swallowed whole
that sat unattended in boxes vacated
like the vacated box that sat waiting.
pressed numbers, searched for release
dial-tone like an empty bed
Taste sweet rejection.
See the red on the razor's edge
stare down at the mess you've made
better you than a dead man
Taste sweet rejection.
Forgiven sin blows a still night air
kneel low to avoid the stare
a chill wind shrinks a twisted spine
Taste sweet rejection.
Lost love played on the Devil's hand
cards down with the Joker's grin
drew back, wrapped a world in shame
Taste sweet rejection.
Black dinosaur on the Atlantis dome
drawn curtains to shield the glare
wipes the smile from a proud man's face
Taste sweet rejection.
Take a rest to the sound of chiding
jocular remembering of the worst job I ever had.
Memories fly back, of the stumbling-mumble to a gravel-strained lie
They spat the poppies-cum into an open hole and "Oohed" and "Aahed" in silence.
Tilted, jilted
in my sodden state, when all hope had wilted.
Let them fall to the floor and die with their heroes
Let them find a corner of a legend
Love tore them apart and cost them $50 every time
Like unturned pages they yellowed and battled on regardless.
Communal living, sharing expenses
The unsaid truths, with years as fences.
Pick up where the mind left-off and watch them raise daisies at the foot of tears.
Sitting round a drink talking about my past
living a history repeat
dreaming a shortened breath.
It came walking to a quick-step halt
picking up pieces without bending down
clutched a life tight as Mother so blue, Mary crystal-clean.
Stop the forgiveness smile, for once a grimace.
Sliding faces follow suit
burning thoughts quenched by thirst, taken and laid to rest.
It's night-time now
splinters of the chill
cataracts of thought
too late to start the day again.
With finger on trigger an inch from delight
pleasures known to you alone
lay back as mind takes flight.
A gentle squeeze
now so at ease, at peace and all as one
safe away, your sanctuary
the reason why you've come
your fantasy, your dream come true, what burns you up inside
the hidden part, forgotten lies
the part you just can't hide
you clear them here with gentle grip, with palms that bead with sweat
then when you're done all that remains are memories in a pool so wet.
In the pub with no heart souls leap from glass to glass in the search for a home
the spirit of '76 came twice a night
all sticky and wasted alone.
Loners cradle company
the company thins until a cradle feels lonely once more.
In the pub with no heart the turned backs and raised hands salute more than authority
ginger-haired smoke-stacks regale all with well rehearsed one-liners
the audience agog with the consumer's awe.
Such celebrities
such minor talents.
In the pub with no heart the seeds of a million romances dry to infertility on floors long unwashed
children drop innocence for ownership
teens sit on 25 until 40 kicks a hole in pretence.
The names and faces change while the scenery and conversation is as predictable as ever
In the pub with no heart.
The blood-red Pegasus sits in flames through unopened windows
alcohol dilutes fears and dreams
blood and bruises prove he's alive
violence the effect of his cause
Proudly proclaiming to friends of his value
"Drinks all round"
"Drinks all round".
They toast his generosity as they toasted his defeat
he toasts his well tried endurance.
"Are you crazy"?
"Are you crazy"?
"Do you live the exciting life"?
Cheques on which they scrawled fame
that turned green
that was swallowed whole
that sat unattended in boxes vacated
like the vacated box that sat waiting.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Little blue love-toy you sit on a bed-side table and await your dream.
Slid in and out of that cunt so wet
a replacement for the stiffness a partner can't get
or inserted in conjunction with a probing elsewhere
that little starfish devoid of hair?
One in front one in back
one in slit one in crack.
Is it the fullness you quench or the plastic desire
when they cum do they slide you higher and higher
so far inside, almost out of sight
are you replaced by one bigger, your fit not quite right?
Do you and your handler put on a show
for her one and only, or for those in the know?
Is it batteries that drive you or the deftness of hand?
Do you take her so high as you're twisted round and round?
In and out of that tunnel so wet, so warm
do they take the stickiness on their tongues?
Do they lick you clean, have a taste for more?
Do you make them feel dirty, do they feel like whores?
Are you a substitute or additive for games in the bed?
Are you becoming addictive: "Use rubber instead"?
Though your rigidity never goes off and the credit is all yours
the feel of that cunt with it's lips engorged
with blood and pouting, and shouting to be "Fucked"
of the velvet insert you'll never know the touch
for no mind of your own, just an object at hand
no hair, no shaft, no foreskin, no glans.
Yet I see you sitting there upright and alone
Does your handler sleep sometimes with her hand on her throne?
Does she flood from the deluge of the storm held within?
The dreams of fantasies, does sex feel like sin?
Or is the sin the emotion, the feelings she keeps?
For the fear of a change, for the loss of nothing she weeps.
I'd like to take her bra off right here in front of the customers
in the middle of their Thai beef-salad and their Arena barramundi
with a mouthful of crusty garlic bread
my facial-hair adorned with cappuccino froth
And I'd like to put it over my head like a pair of ear-muffs
to keep my ears warm even though they burn constantly from the hot expulsions of the always
bored drama-queens.
But I'd have to have her tits still inside the cups
her 34d pear-shaped, ski-jump tits
with their rock-hard nipples
and their sundae-fudge ability to water my mouth.
But she'd look manly without any tits
and I'd look stupid glued face-first to her cleavage.
The night's so cold the air almost smokes with my breath.
I walk
The eyes travel back and forth, back and forth
up and down, up and down.
And there's a Bum on the footpath standing stunned like a fish pulled from the sea to an isolated breath
gripped about the gills by an unfriendly hand
a 4/0 hook in it's sweet lips
bait swallowed to it's gut.
And the eyes of the angler are hidden below the brim of a cap sponsoring XXXX or some other approximation of a beer.
And the fish can sense it's own death as the breath reeking of the best part of a six-pack comes in close for inspection.
And this Bum's so intent that he doesn't notice me
he's got his hand in his fly-hole
the zipper's undone
and he's grabbing at himself as if he's lost something.
His cock maybe?
A pair of balls that used to hang below in a skin sac all their own?
And I walked straight passed and sat down to order a dinner of pasta
And I wonder now "Did he find what he was looking for"?
because I'm no longer hungry.
Eyes go sore from a lack of tears
love that can't be found so early on a Sunday afternoon
buried deep already in a malted grave
smoke wafting apologies from between lips, off a tongue so glib and lazy.
"Please" she says
"Between me"
And her Paris launches from memories to light a hope that it may still be there this time whenever
and I might see for myself.
Slid in and out of that cunt so wet
a replacement for the stiffness a partner can't get
or inserted in conjunction with a probing elsewhere
that little starfish devoid of hair?
One in front one in back
one in slit one in crack.
Is it the fullness you quench or the plastic desire
when they cum do they slide you higher and higher
so far inside, almost out of sight
are you replaced by one bigger, your fit not quite right?
Do you and your handler put on a show
for her one and only, or for those in the know?
Is it batteries that drive you or the deftness of hand?
Do you take her so high as you're twisted round and round?
In and out of that tunnel so wet, so warm
do they take the stickiness on their tongues?
Do they lick you clean, have a taste for more?
Do you make them feel dirty, do they feel like whores?
Are you a substitute or additive for games in the bed?
Are you becoming addictive: "Use rubber instead"?
Though your rigidity never goes off and the credit is all yours
the feel of that cunt with it's lips engorged
with blood and pouting, and shouting to be "Fucked"
of the velvet insert you'll never know the touch
for no mind of your own, just an object at hand
no hair, no shaft, no foreskin, no glans.
Yet I see you sitting there upright and alone
Does your handler sleep sometimes with her hand on her throne?
Does she flood from the deluge of the storm held within?
The dreams of fantasies, does sex feel like sin?
Or is the sin the emotion, the feelings she keeps?
For the fear of a change, for the loss of nothing she weeps.
I'd like to take her bra off right here in front of the customers
in the middle of their Thai beef-salad and their Arena barramundi
with a mouthful of crusty garlic bread
my facial-hair adorned with cappuccino froth
And I'd like to put it over my head like a pair of ear-muffs
to keep my ears warm even though they burn constantly from the hot expulsions of the always
bored drama-queens.
But I'd have to have her tits still inside the cups
her 34d pear-shaped, ski-jump tits
with their rock-hard nipples
and their sundae-fudge ability to water my mouth.
But she'd look manly without any tits
and I'd look stupid glued face-first to her cleavage.
The night's so cold the air almost smokes with my breath.
I walk
The eyes travel back and forth, back and forth
up and down, up and down.
And there's a Bum on the footpath standing stunned like a fish pulled from the sea to an isolated breath
gripped about the gills by an unfriendly hand
a 4/0 hook in it's sweet lips
bait swallowed to it's gut.
And the eyes of the angler are hidden below the brim of a cap sponsoring XXXX or some other approximation of a beer.
And the fish can sense it's own death as the breath reeking of the best part of a six-pack comes in close for inspection.
And this Bum's so intent that he doesn't notice me
he's got his hand in his fly-hole
the zipper's undone
and he's grabbing at himself as if he's lost something.
His cock maybe?
A pair of balls that used to hang below in a skin sac all their own?
And I walked straight passed and sat down to order a dinner of pasta
And I wonder now "Did he find what he was looking for"?
because I'm no longer hungry.
Eyes go sore from a lack of tears
love that can't be found so early on a Sunday afternoon
buried deep already in a malted grave
smoke wafting apologies from between lips, off a tongue so glib and lazy.
"Please" she says
"Between me"
And her Paris launches from memories to light a hope that it may still be there this time whenever
and I might see for myself.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
A wedding present of words from me to her hastily scratched onto a napkin.
Nikos coffee lounge, King st Newtown.
Doing the book-seller shuffle
she's such a diversion
laughing
applying pressure
my mind about a breast, up a skirt and home
touching the moistened crevice.
Her wine of life douses my deepest thoughts
douses her pubes
about to burst the afternoon in delight, Strauss and pianos.
Finding humour above a bandanna necklace
still smiling even now.
My words hidden close to her heart
hidden in secrecy.
Such soft sweet murmur
"Not here"
"Not now"
We can go no further
The age of all things
So precious
So calamitous
As my darkness sings
Furrow trenched into the brow
Of worry
Of wonder
A fiery supernova of now.
That hands alone allay
About a face
About a self
Velveteen gloves now gone away.
A night guest finding me
How lost?
How familiar?
Sharing that gratis, set free.
The kids blow snot back over sulphate crystals to the footpath
on the mobile
fashionably late.
The dog-chain keeps a wallet attached.
My haunches start to ache
I write uncomfortable.
Here the hotted-up Holden rules!!
It revs
shouts "Hello" to an aproned escort of trolleys and fresh fruit, bread and milk
smoking a 5 minute break into a 10 minute sickie.
She's an Oriental pear-body looking like a Koi in an Eastern pond
She smiles the fountain trickle through a cascade of mascara.
Cigarettes lay in ashtrays doubled over in pain
not half of what they were.
There's music in the other room
"I missed that girl, was it sorry you said?"
I'm laying on my lonely bed
with a dream somewhere in mind
could you take the time
whisper to me again
say the words "I want you"
There's a party in the garden
friends are drinking beers
"It's still early" I heard one say
you said "I've had a long day"
with a dream somewhere in mind
could you find the time
whisper to me again
say the words "I need you"
There's a baby crying the just awake tears
we uncouple our love
"Your turn or is it mine?"
"Let's toss the coin"
"Tails it's mine"
with a dream somewhere in mind
could you take the time
whisper to me again
say the words "I love you".
Nikos coffee lounge, King st Newtown.
Doing the book-seller shuffle
she's such a diversion
laughing
applying pressure
my mind about a breast, up a skirt and home
touching the moistened crevice.
Her wine of life douses my deepest thoughts
douses her pubes
about to burst the afternoon in delight, Strauss and pianos.
Finding humour above a bandanna necklace
still smiling even now.
My words hidden close to her heart
hidden in secrecy.
Such soft sweet murmur
"Not here"
"Not now"
We can go no further
The age of all things
So precious
So calamitous
As my darkness sings
Furrow trenched into the brow
Of worry
Of wonder
A fiery supernova of now.
That hands alone allay
About a face
About a self
Velveteen gloves now gone away.
A night guest finding me
How lost?
How familiar?
Sharing that gratis, set free.
The kids blow snot back over sulphate crystals to the footpath
on the mobile
fashionably late.
The dog-chain keeps a wallet attached.
My haunches start to ache
I write uncomfortable.
Here the hotted-up Holden rules!!
It revs
shouts "Hello" to an aproned escort of trolleys and fresh fruit, bread and milk
smoking a 5 minute break into a 10 minute sickie.
She's an Oriental pear-body looking like a Koi in an Eastern pond
She smiles the fountain trickle through a cascade of mascara.
Cigarettes lay in ashtrays doubled over in pain
not half of what they were.
There's music in the other room
"I missed that girl, was it sorry you said?"
I'm laying on my lonely bed
with a dream somewhere in mind
could you take the time
whisper to me again
say the words "I want you"
There's a party in the garden
friends are drinking beers
"It's still early" I heard one say
you said "I've had a long day"
with a dream somewhere in mind
could you find the time
whisper to me again
say the words "I need you"
There's a baby crying the just awake tears
we uncouple our love
"Your turn or is it mine?"
"Let's toss the coin"
"Tails it's mine"
with a dream somewhere in mind
could you take the time
whisper to me again
say the words "I love you".
Saturday, July 31, 2010
She remembered
it doesn't matter to them
because it does for them.
It ends where it should
a terminus
replica girls
central
stationed through time as through the now
when writing is solitary
not in isolation
of pain
human bleeding
expend the fluid
because I know the numbness is not me
because I can feel
because pain doesn't live in a deadened heart.
A mind's eye crucified
nailed to immobility
an insect pinned to a board of labels, of Latin descriptions; "Poetica nascitur non fit"
My machine grinding on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
Compulsion exudes into mind
of laboured non-love
objects d'product
factory framed illusions of words in the realm
wrapping kings in robes so coloured
such rainbow attire
crowns now tarnished
absent
a family's jewel
a turban of thorns upon a father's head.
He tells the tales of the open road
of journeys back and forth
between our cities
where we all play
where there is no room for the iron maiden
casting spires into my self
bleeding my sickness
eager leeches so giant and thirsting
waiting in hollow tubes of a Hell's descent
to take me down to the truest night
the land of horrid Taoist nightmares.
I fight the invisible foes of trust
his one last ray of faith
sitting so radiant.
I would need to be a cosmonaut
man number one.
"One small step........"
Get down on your hands and knees
like a dog
roll in the shit.
Your shit
The stench of yourself
and your girlfriend says
"You fucked her last night, the mickey's on your tongue, her pubes are stuck between your teeth"
a meal of mad abandon.
You ate her cunt
and it was good.
It ran itself over your mouth
sucked your tongue up to it's origins
poured it's monsoon
drowned any love you had in insane animal lusting
tongue fucking.
She grabbed at sheets
clawed your hair
your head
tore the lid from despair
screamed for the rampant cock of your betrayal to fuck her hole
to pound her split-fruit of a ripened cunt
in love on it's own.
it doesn't matter to them
because it does for them.
It ends where it should
a terminus
replica girls
central
stationed through time as through the now
when writing is solitary
not in isolation
of pain
human bleeding
expend the fluid
because I know the numbness is not me
because I can feel
because pain doesn't live in a deadened heart.
A mind's eye crucified
nailed to immobility
an insect pinned to a board of labels, of Latin descriptions; "Poetica nascitur non fit"
My machine grinding on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
on and on
Compulsion exudes into mind
of laboured non-love
objects d'product
factory framed illusions of words in the realm
wrapping kings in robes so coloured
such rainbow attire
crowns now tarnished
absent
a family's jewel
a turban of thorns upon a father's head.
He tells the tales of the open road
of journeys back and forth
between our cities
where we all play
where there is no room for the iron maiden
casting spires into my self
bleeding my sickness
eager leeches so giant and thirsting
waiting in hollow tubes of a Hell's descent
to take me down to the truest night
the land of horrid Taoist nightmares.
I fight the invisible foes of trust
his one last ray of faith
sitting so radiant.
I would need to be a cosmonaut
man number one.
"One small step........"
Get down on your hands and knees
like a dog
roll in the shit.
Your shit
The stench of yourself
and your girlfriend says
"You fucked her last night, the mickey's on your tongue, her pubes are stuck between your teeth"
a meal of mad abandon.
You ate her cunt
and it was good.
It ran itself over your mouth
sucked your tongue up to it's origins
poured it's monsoon
drowned any love you had in insane animal lusting
tongue fucking.
She grabbed at sheets
clawed your hair
your head
tore the lid from despair
screamed for the rampant cock of your betrayal to fuck her hole
to pound her split-fruit of a ripened cunt
in love on it's own.
"What're you doing with your hand on my tit"? she squealed through a haze of cigarette as the second part of the double feature rolled into view on the screen.
"Feeling lucky"
Credits rolled on the big white wall beneath the stars and the horns of the cars sounded off like a fanfare of impatience.
"Well if you don't mind. This is the movie I came to watch, you know that"
"Whatever"
"Thank you"
The opening credits came to an end and the movie actually began, and then the flare of a lighter could be seen from the car parked directly in front of them. Then another red glare took the lighter's place and burnt for a moment before disappearing.
"Pulling bongs in front eh"?
"Sssshh"
"Wouldn't mind a couple myself. Typical that Pete'd be out the one time I actually want some"
"Sssshhh"
She curled her feet up under herself and grabbed the blanket from the back seat.
"That's the dog's blanket"
"You didn't complain the other night by the beach about it being the dog's blanket"
"That's different. That was outside, this is inside the car, and it's aawwwhhhh, still full of fucking sand"
"Sorry about that. I didn't mean to throw sand in the face of your six-stone weakling"
"Funny"
"The other night when I was forced to inhale the dog's stench while you did your business you weren't worried about sand or smell"
"Alright, alright, use the blanket if you can handle the smell then, just try not to throw too much sand through the car"
"Sssshhh. Now I've missed some of the movie because of you"
"Well don't answer then"
"Sssshhh"
"I'm going to the toilet. Do you want something from the shop while I'm out that way"?
"Some Fantails would be nice"
"Fantails"?
"Yep"
The door of the car opened, the interior light went on and then as the door closed went off again.
He was never seen again.
She drove home alone and content.
":Best movie I've seen in ages"
A six-pack is no more a trophy to be gripped like the well timed fingers of the adept lover whose push and touch can draw from you the essence of that orb-borne stream, to quench the thirst for orgasm known, the taste that leaves no doubt, as thighs may quiver to panted breaths both minds know and drive toward that moment when as one the Earth cleaves apart and born is true love.
A cavern that burns
where you stand or sit.
"Look at me" so golden
a child.
Jack-in -the-box stars
4 o'clock morning-dark sky
Christmas tree pressure-cooker
hours of the music I send to the dead-zones of their far-away world.
Send it back to me, here and now.
If I could growl and raise a Hell
as I was born
anger mad
a psycho-eyed stranger caught just once in pig-bound custody
to their wailing
their hopeful chains of flaky grey.
Wet sex in city jungle promise.
She always lied
he put the eye to a key-hole to spot that lady death
frothy soap lusting golden pubes
finger tucking to the hilt.
Freeze-dried now.
Whore-girl leaning awaits applause.
Could wank.
Could wank.
Be strong
hear his Highness
tripping head
lost to the belt-line doing dreams
rampant rolling back
glowing purple.
Don't
don't.
Steal me
the thief echoes hatred.
Shield eyes below a tilted cap and crawl away.
The fear will find a home in you
will find a tumour to inflame to madness
a searing fester to torch the ancient rivers of guarded dreams.
Cerberus knows where the eels call home
electric gnawing.
Grow leather wings
be a pedestal Puck.
He sees buds spout in the blades
straining
muscles taught to find that ache of years.
See me in darkness
blinding darkness.
Kiss me here
here
here.
Trample the holy lie
wrapped about a baobab.
Dig Joshua dig.
The fall down so deep a void of so many slippery years
to return and look at memories
at faces.
See now the walls adorned with just myself
this temple of self-glory
gratified and delayed
an oft postponed orgasm of life, where that hand of fate plays strong against my will to destiny
to force
impose
to grab and sustain at existence.
"Feeling lucky"
Credits rolled on the big white wall beneath the stars and the horns of the cars sounded off like a fanfare of impatience.
"Well if you don't mind. This is the movie I came to watch, you know that"
"Whatever"
"Thank you"
The opening credits came to an end and the movie actually began, and then the flare of a lighter could be seen from the car parked directly in front of them. Then another red glare took the lighter's place and burnt for a moment before disappearing.
"Pulling bongs in front eh"?
"Sssshh"
"Wouldn't mind a couple myself. Typical that Pete'd be out the one time I actually want some"
"Sssshhh"
She curled her feet up under herself and grabbed the blanket from the back seat.
"That's the dog's blanket"
"You didn't complain the other night by the beach about it being the dog's blanket"
"That's different. That was outside, this is inside the car, and it's aawwwhhhh, still full of fucking sand"
"Sorry about that. I didn't mean to throw sand in the face of your six-stone weakling"
"Funny"
"The other night when I was forced to inhale the dog's stench while you did your business you weren't worried about sand or smell"
"Alright, alright, use the blanket if you can handle the smell then, just try not to throw too much sand through the car"
"Sssshhh. Now I've missed some of the movie because of you"
"Well don't answer then"
"Sssshhh"
"I'm going to the toilet. Do you want something from the shop while I'm out that way"?
"Some Fantails would be nice"
"Fantails"?
"Yep"
The door of the car opened, the interior light went on and then as the door closed went off again.
He was never seen again.
She drove home alone and content.
":Best movie I've seen in ages"
A six-pack is no more a trophy to be gripped like the well timed fingers of the adept lover whose push and touch can draw from you the essence of that orb-borne stream, to quench the thirst for orgasm known, the taste that leaves no doubt, as thighs may quiver to panted breaths both minds know and drive toward that moment when as one the Earth cleaves apart and born is true love.
A cavern that burns
where you stand or sit.
"Look at me" so golden
a child.
Jack-in -the-box stars
4 o'clock morning-dark sky
Christmas tree pressure-cooker
hours of the music I send to the dead-zones of their far-away world.
Send it back to me, here and now.
If I could growl and raise a Hell
as I was born
anger mad
a psycho-eyed stranger caught just once in pig-bound custody
to their wailing
their hopeful chains of flaky grey.
Wet sex in city jungle promise.
She always lied
he put the eye to a key-hole to spot that lady death
frothy soap lusting golden pubes
finger tucking to the hilt.
Freeze-dried now.
Whore-girl leaning awaits applause.
Could wank.
Could wank.
Be strong
hear his Highness
tripping head
lost to the belt-line doing dreams
rampant rolling back
glowing purple.
Don't
don't.
Steal me
the thief echoes hatred.
Shield eyes below a tilted cap and crawl away.
The fear will find a home in you
will find a tumour to inflame to madness
a searing fester to torch the ancient rivers of guarded dreams.
Cerberus knows where the eels call home
electric gnawing.
Grow leather wings
be a pedestal Puck.
He sees buds spout in the blades
straining
muscles taught to find that ache of years.
See me in darkness
blinding darkness.
Kiss me here
here
here.
Trample the holy lie
wrapped about a baobab.
Dig Joshua dig.
The fall down so deep a void of so many slippery years
to return and look at memories
at faces.
See now the walls adorned with just myself
this temple of self-glory
gratified and delayed
an oft postponed orgasm of life, where that hand of fate plays strong against my will to destiny
to force
impose
to grab and sustain at existence.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
You're so old
with your silk scarf and photos of the grand-kids
your comments about everything before we've even begun.
You snicker as he swears
go silent at "cunt"
and I'm here feeling myself expanding with each mouthful.
You're so old
with your chin on the steering wheel
your hair fresh from curlers or buried beneath a beaten old hat
any indication of direction given far too late to matter
and I'm being told to treat you with respect.
You're so old
so demanding of things you claim you can no longer do
that you never did
that we take for granted
as you take us for granted at times.
You're so old
with your repeated phrases
your washing that flies every Thursday, "Dry by lunch"
the favours we won't record
your views a general consensus.
You're so old
you can't move a muscle
and I wonder "Do you know"?
The promise made to never let this happen to each other
that death might be preferable.
You're so old
you flaunt your nudity without really knowing
like the curtain's open on purpose
the same as you forgot to shut a door
because you needed to piss so badly.
You're so old
that like when I'm tired it's sleep you seek
only with you it's all day
mouth agape, catching flies and zeds
trouser legs to your knees.
You're so old
you laugh when I dance.
Before I was king of a nowhere
but it's humour you need
it's distraction from fate.
You're so old
tattoos make a person "Common"
despite uniqueness and art
when you've never worked
ignoring the kindness.
You're so old
have you forgotten youth?
Things only happening since a loved ones departure
since you needed tending
since yours are the best of all.
You're so old
baby-sitting, baby-sat?
You don't understand the simple
yet keep it so much so
a change comes like a mystery.
You're so old
Will we that are young catch up?
Will we exceed?
Will we know if we do?
For we will be so old.
with your silk scarf and photos of the grand-kids
your comments about everything before we've even begun.
You snicker as he swears
go silent at "cunt"
and I'm here feeling myself expanding with each mouthful.
You're so old
with your chin on the steering wheel
your hair fresh from curlers or buried beneath a beaten old hat
any indication of direction given far too late to matter
and I'm being told to treat you with respect.
You're so old
so demanding of things you claim you can no longer do
that you never did
that we take for granted
as you take us for granted at times.
You're so old
with your repeated phrases
your washing that flies every Thursday, "Dry by lunch"
the favours we won't record
your views a general consensus.
You're so old
you can't move a muscle
and I wonder "Do you know"?
The promise made to never let this happen to each other
that death might be preferable.
You're so old
you flaunt your nudity without really knowing
like the curtain's open on purpose
the same as you forgot to shut a door
because you needed to piss so badly.
You're so old
that like when I'm tired it's sleep you seek
only with you it's all day
mouth agape, catching flies and zeds
trouser legs to your knees.
You're so old
you laugh when I dance.
Before I was king of a nowhere
but it's humour you need
it's distraction from fate.
You're so old
tattoos make a person "Common"
despite uniqueness and art
when you've never worked
ignoring the kindness.
You're so old
have you forgotten youth?
Things only happening since a loved ones departure
since you needed tending
since yours are the best of all.
You're so old
baby-sitting, baby-sat?
You don't understand the simple
yet keep it so much so
a change comes like a mystery.
You're so old
Will we that are young catch up?
Will we exceed?
Will we know if we do?
For we will be so old.
I just saw love bloom into a one night stand, lips locked and so gently removed.
But the ugly haunt here too
and the past
where there was no future because I dared to speak a mind and offer it for proof.
Did they take offense when they thought I was blind, or dumb, but never deaf?
Ears ringing even now
when rooms are small and they're always so loud.
There's always a thing of beauty to behold
bronzed skin just a slice of view.
Could I ask you to pose
or are you posing already
a question of volume over nerves
of accents versus language
such a modern classic.
And who is he
so unsuited, though he's trying
matching you drink for drink
when you're so dark and he's such a tree of green
so young to your travelling past
your exotic nature, urbane and to be loving
to be recognised by one who looks to know?
I saw you today
talking to yourself and gesticulating like you had a friend.
Maybe you did
maybe that's why they snickered
maybe that's why she looked scared?
I walked right passed you and noted you for now.
Do you know there's no-one there
driven to voice regardless of audience
movements almost a dance, a shuffle to and fro?
It doesn't seem to trouble you enough to make you stop.
Is help arriving from beyond your grasp?
Could you create a friendship from the madness?
But the ugly haunt here too
and the past
where there was no future because I dared to speak a mind and offer it for proof.
Did they take offense when they thought I was blind, or dumb, but never deaf?
Ears ringing even now
when rooms are small and they're always so loud.
There's always a thing of beauty to behold
bronzed skin just a slice of view.
Could I ask you to pose
or are you posing already
a question of volume over nerves
of accents versus language
such a modern classic.
And who is he
so unsuited, though he's trying
matching you drink for drink
when you're so dark and he's such a tree of green
so young to your travelling past
your exotic nature, urbane and to be loving
to be recognised by one who looks to know?
I saw you today
talking to yourself and gesticulating like you had a friend.
Maybe you did
maybe that's why they snickered
maybe that's why she looked scared?
I walked right passed you and noted you for now.
Do you know there's no-one there
driven to voice regardless of audience
movements almost a dance, a shuffle to and fro?
It doesn't seem to trouble you enough to make you stop.
Is help arriving from beyond your grasp?
Could you create a friendship from the madness?
Monday, July 12, 2010
And you!!!!
What's your claim to fame
a beauty Queen, something more obscene?
Drug dealer, scene stealer
gang banger, the cum squealer?
Are you a rock-star with a big car
or lobotomised with a small scar?
You wear tight pants, show your tight butt
you go down some, play the cheap slut.
Got the cash to splash, want to buy some gash
win the blue ribbon, the first prize sash.
You know all their names
they look all the same.
Do they dull your flame?
Take your name in vain?
Do they block the glare of the flashbulb stare?
Do they even care if you're not there?
And you!!!!
Do you need the fame?
The nowhere man in a nowhere land.
Bar tender, car mender
garbage man, gender bender.
Are you a bank clerk with an overdraft
or a housewife into handicraft?
You wear blue jeans, collared shirt sometimes
you've been down some, seen better times.
When you get the urge do you binge and purge?
All your life a learning curve.
What's your claim to fame
a beauty Queen, something more obscene?
Drug dealer, scene stealer
gang banger, the cum squealer?
Are you a rock-star with a big car
or lobotomised with a small scar?
You wear tight pants, show your tight butt
you go down some, play the cheap slut.
Got the cash to splash, want to buy some gash
win the blue ribbon, the first prize sash.
You know all their names
they look all the same.
Do they dull your flame?
Take your name in vain?
Do they block the glare of the flashbulb stare?
Do they even care if you're not there?
And you!!!!
Do you need the fame?
The nowhere man in a nowhere land.
Bar tender, car mender
garbage man, gender bender.
Are you a bank clerk with an overdraft
or a housewife into handicraft?
You wear blue jeans, collared shirt sometimes
you've been down some, seen better times.
When you get the urge do you binge and purge?
All your life a learning curve.
In droves they came so as to string her up by her retarded mentality.
She swung on long after her twitching had ceased, almost like it was a testament to the effort she'd put into dying.
I looked at her eyeballs and wondered whether any minute they or the sockets that held them might burst. How strange to see eyes so strained and know they observe nothing.
The way she fouled herself at the last, so common now since she'd lost her memory to that time. I refused to join the "Hurrahs" as they'd seen it trickle down first one leg then the other, pooling in a pile on the ground.
Flies feasted on semi-digested offerings, and those with limited senses of smell craned their necks for proof of what she'd told them she ate.
One or two pulled at her feet in order to salvage shoes or socks and to check for traces of sand that they said dwelt between her toes. Why they'd wasted clothing at all on one so wanton with her flesh bemused me as I sat and watched them dance a merry jig upon pronouncement of death. In time to the music they swigged and passed round home-rolled cigarettes, the air fairly reeking with hedonistic intent.
I see all this in a haze of red and wonder whether it's of their projection or the gauze my mind slips over itself in order to strain that which I view.
Some form of tribal dance manifests itself amongst all this mayhem and I see one after the other lift their partners by the throat, shake several times, then release. The one gripped smiling with this show of attention, this excuse for some liquid refreshment. On long into the night their revellry continues, the corpse like a mistle-toe to be kissed under in the hope of luck, hanging limp and lifeless, slowly bloating.
Dogs lap at the pool the flies had vacated when the air began to chill and the sky became dark. Barely a slither of moon tonight and the stars, if there were any, and we all know they just don't disappear, so far away as to be invisible.
Hand-held torches light the festivities and give the impression of sunbeams gone epileptic, jumping from here to there, then back to here, and off to where, and then gone off completely, saving themselves for something worth showing.
One of the hounds sniffs at the air scenting the source of it's rich meal, nose up-tilting, eyes skyward, piercing the night for more excreta on which to feast. It stills and I can just make out a tongue licking chops, bare fangs, and the steam that issues jet-like from it's nostrils. It leaps high, but not high enough. It's jaws snapping loudly and emptily still a good distance below toes once known to sand now dangling enticingly before the hungry horde.
How silent and sadistic my vigil?
Perhaps I should have intervened and protested some kind of humanity or shouted innocence in the face of the maddened crowd..
Maybe I could have swollen their number by one and turned them from a rabble to a gathering, my presence giving them some form of direction or stability.
It's the dogs that worry me inside, their domestication slipping with every drive of that tongue into the ever decreasing pool. I see them poise, hackles up, frame low and all teeth bared as one of the celebrants teeters on the brink of collapse. Several of the mindless cur leap ceaselessly at the feet as if hypnotised by their effort. To cease now would see them leave what is there staring them in the face, filling their nostrils with it's stench, turning their stomachs with hunger, obsessing their entire being, go to waste or become something for some-one else. Some soap for the beauticians, some hair for the wig-maker, a filling for the undertaker, breakfast for the worms.
It's the obscenity of this vision that holds me. The endless possibilities of mixing animal instincts with hunger, fired by a taste, with intoxication, all stirred by the knowledge that they survived longer that her.
I close my eyes and sleep takes me back to it's safety before Hell breaks loose and man starts to eat man, while dogs watch and feast on scraps. Those remaining are then ravaged by the need to remain blood-crazed and dominant, to the extent of collapse, which offers their canine audience the opportunity to consume at will.
She swung on long after her twitching had ceased, almost like it was a testament to the effort she'd put into dying.
I looked at her eyeballs and wondered whether any minute they or the sockets that held them might burst. How strange to see eyes so strained and know they observe nothing.
The way she fouled herself at the last, so common now since she'd lost her memory to that time. I refused to join the "Hurrahs" as they'd seen it trickle down first one leg then the other, pooling in a pile on the ground.
Flies feasted on semi-digested offerings, and those with limited senses of smell craned their necks for proof of what she'd told them she ate.
One or two pulled at her feet in order to salvage shoes or socks and to check for traces of sand that they said dwelt between her toes. Why they'd wasted clothing at all on one so wanton with her flesh bemused me as I sat and watched them dance a merry jig upon pronouncement of death. In time to the music they swigged and passed round home-rolled cigarettes, the air fairly reeking with hedonistic intent.
I see all this in a haze of red and wonder whether it's of their projection or the gauze my mind slips over itself in order to strain that which I view.
Some form of tribal dance manifests itself amongst all this mayhem and I see one after the other lift their partners by the throat, shake several times, then release. The one gripped smiling with this show of attention, this excuse for some liquid refreshment. On long into the night their revellry continues, the corpse like a mistle-toe to be kissed under in the hope of luck, hanging limp and lifeless, slowly bloating.
Dogs lap at the pool the flies had vacated when the air began to chill and the sky became dark. Barely a slither of moon tonight and the stars, if there were any, and we all know they just don't disappear, so far away as to be invisible.
Hand-held torches light the festivities and give the impression of sunbeams gone epileptic, jumping from here to there, then back to here, and off to where, and then gone off completely, saving themselves for something worth showing.
One of the hounds sniffs at the air scenting the source of it's rich meal, nose up-tilting, eyes skyward, piercing the night for more excreta on which to feast. It stills and I can just make out a tongue licking chops, bare fangs, and the steam that issues jet-like from it's nostrils. It leaps high, but not high enough. It's jaws snapping loudly and emptily still a good distance below toes once known to sand now dangling enticingly before the hungry horde.
How silent and sadistic my vigil?
Perhaps I should have intervened and protested some kind of humanity or shouted innocence in the face of the maddened crowd..
Maybe I could have swollen their number by one and turned them from a rabble to a gathering, my presence giving them some form of direction or stability.
It's the dogs that worry me inside, their domestication slipping with every drive of that tongue into the ever decreasing pool. I see them poise, hackles up, frame low and all teeth bared as one of the celebrants teeters on the brink of collapse. Several of the mindless cur leap ceaselessly at the feet as if hypnotised by their effort. To cease now would see them leave what is there staring them in the face, filling their nostrils with it's stench, turning their stomachs with hunger, obsessing their entire being, go to waste or become something for some-one else. Some soap for the beauticians, some hair for the wig-maker, a filling for the undertaker, breakfast for the worms.
It's the obscenity of this vision that holds me. The endless possibilities of mixing animal instincts with hunger, fired by a taste, with intoxication, all stirred by the knowledge that they survived longer that her.
I close my eyes and sleep takes me back to it's safety before Hell breaks loose and man starts to eat man, while dogs watch and feast on scraps. Those remaining are then ravaged by the need to remain blood-crazed and dominant, to the extent of collapse, which offers their canine audience the opportunity to consume at will.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Just another teeny-bopper's shared wet dream
another hairy appendage in a hairless seam.
Long nights fearing mother's knock
another uncle
the bed-spring punch-clock
"Where's Daddy"?
"When will he be home"?
Another Christmas so alone.
Just another brides-maid's tale, virgin-white love
'til the death, golden bands, signed and sealed it up
Hot days sweating the money Jones
another day of fingers working to the bone
"Where's daddy"?
"When will he be home"?
Another Christmas so alone
Just another tough guy lament, beer-soaked thoughts
another loner looking for paradise, out of reach, uncaught
every night sleeping arms spread wide and clutching
early morning when Hell's been watching.
"Where's daddy"?
"When will he be home"?
Another Christmas so alone.
I was waiting for the punches to start, it seemed like one of those weddings.
Grandma mingled with ink-blotted drunks, cherry-topped breasts heaved and wriggled with the escapists mind as the white-lace drew heartily on yet another nicotine teat. Criss-crossed purple strands bluntly dissuaded imploring eyes and let limp hands slide away unfulfilled.
The clink of glass through both celebration and intoxicated clumsiness chills the air with the expectation of that sound that either stills or hurries, the dropped tray that brings cheers from the invited and groans of waste from the free-loaders a set of hasty steps from me and an a almost silent curse from the slippery fingered.
All those flash-bulbs tonight and tomorrow the complaints of "You weren't looking" or "You moved" or "What's his hand doing on your arse"? flying like the elephants in pink tights on unicycles carrying tiny umbrellas that flash in heads that moved too suddenly and stirred the sludge the night left.
I keep lifting and stacking the abandoned glasses in my left hand and cogitate about the time when those carrying leftovers would have vanished without a murmur. The days I would have been the drunken palms touching thighs or grabbing at free-swinging breasts, the slurrer gently side-stepped for the bean-eyed and restless.
"Have you heard about the midnight rambler", and here's me 9.15 Saturday night at club central dressed like a piece of some Grand Prix finishing flag, with a material throat-choker as an inverted noose, two hands full of the cheapest glass money can buy wondering when I might be able to add a jacket to my attire and partake of nuptial-night bliss.
I escape this orthodox madness for the serious insanity of the casino room where the once one-armed have now become push-button-money-suckers, with their operators perched shag-like hoping for a five-in-a-row on a bet five with five free spins to follow.
Voyeuristically I stand watching numbers fall by tens and fives occasionally rattling up by forties and fifties.
She just got lucky and popped a 500, the skull and cross-bones in a line, with Long John Silver and his hook a reminder of the good old days when you could pull away in public and still be called normal. The poker machine graveyard full of still sweating knobs atop slender silver searching for a warm palm to keep them company, these machines like come-on whores, shining, promising, offering opportunity if you're willing to spend. How could you choose? One much like the other, all reliant on luck and the odds much improved on the one some-one else is playing or the one they've left without satisfaction.
The new Mrs What's-her-name stands braced by a brides-maids words at one of the symbols of fortune and casts coins into it's slot much as she had just cast her garter into the wall of hands thrown blindly roofward. The heavy-lidded eyes of it's human brickwork still fixed on a slowly disappearing thigh clad in patterned white silk held up by matching elastic. A brattish melee had ensued and from the scrum emerged the victor, tie wildly askew, smile even more so, and the gleam in the single open optic as he slid the elastic up a tweed covered arm augured well for his solitary version of consummation.
How did I end up at the front-desk answering telephones and paging the long departed?
"Checking in"?
Sign here, take your change, and I'll check your mind so you can retrieve it on your way out when you're dollars lighter
I'm the registrar of names intent on enjoyment and I feel like I should just call them all "Smith" and give them a key, some towels, and a pamphlet on the "Joys of Sex". Instead I wish them luck and ask them not to attack the door quite so violently, it'll still be there on their way out.
"Down at the end of lonely street" comes from the auditorium as the bistro manager flips "Closed" to the empty hallway and any empty stomachs to whom a plate of chips might seem a suitable filler. "Heartbreak hotel".
I knew it. I am in a cheap hotel with couples as unmarried as they are unsuitable doing the unimaginable and I'm the the one taking names for history's sake and leaving faces and other physical traits for burglars and stand-up merchants.
Too soon it's over and I'm back creating glass statues and adding schooner to middy and seven ounce to empty bottle and wondering "Where do they get the money"?
Unfed dogs follow buggy toting horses round and round on the huge screen as the yelps and woes of winners and losers become bookends wedging those present between the betting-window and the pool-table.
I disassemble my statue and arrange it's pieces on the racks for a steam-bath and hose-down content on my position as spectator. No longer fit enough for the rough and tumble of intoxication, too many long-term injuries, too many notes with wings and minds of their own flying from opened wallet to cash register and some-one else's profit, with no hope of finding a way back. Too many times checking for chewing gum and how many screws are missing from the underside of too many tables.
Out passed those shimmering nightmares and the fray of wedding bliss I venture oblivious to the possibilities that unhinged minds can create.
At least they're all seated which takes away the possibility of some-one toppling over and creating the gravitational precedent of a body falling Earthwards while still at rest.
They're all becoming apprentices to my artisan and erecting mini glass monuments of their own. The joy of being imitated like the step up to a dais bathed in uninterrupted light, and I shuffle and dance at the realisation that I'm noticed and thought about.
A bride's smile, and in white so virginal, greets me as I round a blind-corner and steady a blind customer, who offers blind judgement on whether the band is playing in four-four or in some other kind of alcoholic off-beat.
What was that ancient tradition of best-man and bride?
If I'm the best man for the job then so be it
Too late she's gone and I notice she's complaining to a sympathetic, over-used, sponge about a burn from a mishandled cigarette.
Those misallied couples I'd booked in for the evening are shuffling away to a tune I think was once a Kenny Rogers number, though now, after this band has finished wringing it's neck I doubt he'd recognise let alone own up to ever having been a party to it.
"You've go to know" screams the resident table-tapper as his company politely smile and enquire about closing times and take-aways. I couldn't pick them for stayers, they looked more the at-the-club-hiding-in-the-shadows-cowering-against-the-wall-with-every-heavy-handed-thud type to me, but then I only work here.
"Midnight close and I'm sorry it's too late for take-aways" I respond, and with a little work I might be able to fit that into the bridge between the third chorus and the fourth verse. I'll keep it in mind for my next encounter with Mr Rogers and his song-writing team.
another hairy appendage in a hairless seam.
Long nights fearing mother's knock
another uncle
the bed-spring punch-clock
"Where's Daddy"?
"When will he be home"?
Another Christmas so alone.
Just another brides-maid's tale, virgin-white love
'til the death, golden bands, signed and sealed it up
Hot days sweating the money Jones
another day of fingers working to the bone
"Where's daddy"?
"When will he be home"?
Another Christmas so alone
Just another tough guy lament, beer-soaked thoughts
another loner looking for paradise, out of reach, uncaught
every night sleeping arms spread wide and clutching
early morning when Hell's been watching.
"Where's daddy"?
"When will he be home"?
Another Christmas so alone.
I was waiting for the punches to start, it seemed like one of those weddings.
Grandma mingled with ink-blotted drunks, cherry-topped breasts heaved and wriggled with the escapists mind as the white-lace drew heartily on yet another nicotine teat. Criss-crossed purple strands bluntly dissuaded imploring eyes and let limp hands slide away unfulfilled.
The clink of glass through both celebration and intoxicated clumsiness chills the air with the expectation of that sound that either stills or hurries, the dropped tray that brings cheers from the invited and groans of waste from the free-loaders a set of hasty steps from me and an a almost silent curse from the slippery fingered.
All those flash-bulbs tonight and tomorrow the complaints of "You weren't looking" or "You moved" or "What's his hand doing on your arse"? flying like the elephants in pink tights on unicycles carrying tiny umbrellas that flash in heads that moved too suddenly and stirred the sludge the night left.
I keep lifting and stacking the abandoned glasses in my left hand and cogitate about the time when those carrying leftovers would have vanished without a murmur. The days I would have been the drunken palms touching thighs or grabbing at free-swinging breasts, the slurrer gently side-stepped for the bean-eyed and restless.
"Have you heard about the midnight rambler", and here's me 9.15 Saturday night at club central dressed like a piece of some Grand Prix finishing flag, with a material throat-choker as an inverted noose, two hands full of the cheapest glass money can buy wondering when I might be able to add a jacket to my attire and partake of nuptial-night bliss.
I escape this orthodox madness for the serious insanity of the casino room where the once one-armed have now become push-button-money-suckers, with their operators perched shag-like hoping for a five-in-a-row on a bet five with five free spins to follow.
Voyeuristically I stand watching numbers fall by tens and fives occasionally rattling up by forties and fifties.
She just got lucky and popped a 500, the skull and cross-bones in a line, with Long John Silver and his hook a reminder of the good old days when you could pull away in public and still be called normal. The poker machine graveyard full of still sweating knobs atop slender silver searching for a warm palm to keep them company, these machines like come-on whores, shining, promising, offering opportunity if you're willing to spend. How could you choose? One much like the other, all reliant on luck and the odds much improved on the one some-one else is playing or the one they've left without satisfaction.
The new Mrs What's-her-name stands braced by a brides-maids words at one of the symbols of fortune and casts coins into it's slot much as she had just cast her garter into the wall of hands thrown blindly roofward. The heavy-lidded eyes of it's human brickwork still fixed on a slowly disappearing thigh clad in patterned white silk held up by matching elastic. A brattish melee had ensued and from the scrum emerged the victor, tie wildly askew, smile even more so, and the gleam in the single open optic as he slid the elastic up a tweed covered arm augured well for his solitary version of consummation.
How did I end up at the front-desk answering telephones and paging the long departed?
"Checking in"?
Sign here, take your change, and I'll check your mind so you can retrieve it on your way out when you're dollars lighter
I'm the registrar of names intent on enjoyment and I feel like I should just call them all "Smith" and give them a key, some towels, and a pamphlet on the "Joys of Sex". Instead I wish them luck and ask them not to attack the door quite so violently, it'll still be there on their way out.
"Down at the end of lonely street" comes from the auditorium as the bistro manager flips "Closed" to the empty hallway and any empty stomachs to whom a plate of chips might seem a suitable filler. "Heartbreak hotel".
I knew it. I am in a cheap hotel with couples as unmarried as they are unsuitable doing the unimaginable and I'm the the one taking names for history's sake and leaving faces and other physical traits for burglars and stand-up merchants.
Too soon it's over and I'm back creating glass statues and adding schooner to middy and seven ounce to empty bottle and wondering "Where do they get the money"?
Unfed dogs follow buggy toting horses round and round on the huge screen as the yelps and woes of winners and losers become bookends wedging those present between the betting-window and the pool-table.
I disassemble my statue and arrange it's pieces on the racks for a steam-bath and hose-down content on my position as spectator. No longer fit enough for the rough and tumble of intoxication, too many long-term injuries, too many notes with wings and minds of their own flying from opened wallet to cash register and some-one else's profit, with no hope of finding a way back. Too many times checking for chewing gum and how many screws are missing from the underside of too many tables.
Out passed those shimmering nightmares and the fray of wedding bliss I venture oblivious to the possibilities that unhinged minds can create.
At least they're all seated which takes away the possibility of some-one toppling over and creating the gravitational precedent of a body falling Earthwards while still at rest.
They're all becoming apprentices to my artisan and erecting mini glass monuments of their own. The joy of being imitated like the step up to a dais bathed in uninterrupted light, and I shuffle and dance at the realisation that I'm noticed and thought about.
A bride's smile, and in white so virginal, greets me as I round a blind-corner and steady a blind customer, who offers blind judgement on whether the band is playing in four-four or in some other kind of alcoholic off-beat.
What was that ancient tradition of best-man and bride?
If I'm the best man for the job then so be it
Too late she's gone and I notice she's complaining to a sympathetic, over-used, sponge about a burn from a mishandled cigarette.
Those misallied couples I'd booked in for the evening are shuffling away to a tune I think was once a Kenny Rogers number, though now, after this band has finished wringing it's neck I doubt he'd recognise let alone own up to ever having been a party to it.
"You've go to know" screams the resident table-tapper as his company politely smile and enquire about closing times and take-aways. I couldn't pick them for stayers, they looked more the at-the-club-hiding-in-the-shadows-cowering-against-the-wall-with-every-heavy-handed-thud type to me, but then I only work here.
"Midnight close and I'm sorry it's too late for take-aways" I respond, and with a little work I might be able to fit that into the bridge between the third chorus and the fourth verse. I'll keep it in mind for my next encounter with Mr Rogers and his song-writing team.
Friday, June 25, 2010
I could look away
and then what would I miss.
And you might think I wasn't interested
that the traffic was more absorbing
that the business couple and their verbal foreplay turned me on
because they don't stop.
And through the wedges he's fucking her hole
her cappuccino-breath sour-creaming an orgasmic squall
his foccacia a pesto-surprise wrapped in satin stripes and barking now
"Yes'
"Yes yes".
His stiff manhood
his upper lip
his sly glance my way.
And I wonder "What's on his mind"? as he fingers her option
a teddy-bear pajama-case a nod to a childhood
her bald mound to his "Papa".
She's dainty, such a lady
with his expenditure leaking to the pavement of tiles and grime
a carpet of sex-waste on this desolate boulevard
the street that beats
that throbs with the beautiful noise.
Sex standing upright
walking
sitting
talking
ready to pounce
unsuspecting like sweet-chilli sauce to a wedge seasoned and sunk in deep-throat
laughing away their rejection
all the eyes that peer because they all want to know
"How long"?
"How fat"?
"How good"?
"How much"?
"How true"?
"Did you dream of the explosion, of the dawn of time"?
And the younger ones just do it
leave conversation to the aged
leave the time wasting to the sexless, the smug and the sadistic
with whip-hands, caustic tongues and hopes
their celebrity ideals and role-model delusions.
He slaps himself hard
about his bouncing cock, now to attention
she's so obedient, so disciplined, such a peasant in jewels posed here to fool,
that there's more to the nothing than just me and my pen.
Drop after drop
emotions to my already pounding mind
Water torture of their inevitable.
Incessant screaming like a menagerie's madness
animals gone wild in my invisible wilderness.
Water torture of their delusion
Drop after drop
liquid black lake a habit
Water torture hovering, cruising over and above.
Magical kingdom of knowing the understanding
Water torture pedestrian
Drop after drop
prone in the persuasion
Water torture killing the dreaming time
Visages weary of the fearful hollow steps
spired chain of vetebra shifts painful on memories.
Water torture century so many BC
Drop after drop
pouring frame by frame.
Water torture slowing to a death
Discovery against truth of life
well that finding is infinite and ever
Water torture justifiable massed.
and then what would I miss.
And you might think I wasn't interested
that the traffic was more absorbing
that the business couple and their verbal foreplay turned me on
because they don't stop.
And through the wedges he's fucking her hole
her cappuccino-breath sour-creaming an orgasmic squall
his foccacia a pesto-surprise wrapped in satin stripes and barking now
"Yes'
"Yes yes".
His stiff manhood
his upper lip
his sly glance my way.
And I wonder "What's on his mind"? as he fingers her option
a teddy-bear pajama-case a nod to a childhood
her bald mound to his "Papa".
She's dainty, such a lady
with his expenditure leaking to the pavement of tiles and grime
a carpet of sex-waste on this desolate boulevard
the street that beats
that throbs with the beautiful noise.
Sex standing upright
walking
sitting
talking
ready to pounce
unsuspecting like sweet-chilli sauce to a wedge seasoned and sunk in deep-throat
laughing away their rejection
all the eyes that peer because they all want to know
"How long"?
"How fat"?
"How good"?
"How much"?
"How true"?
"Did you dream of the explosion, of the dawn of time"?
And the younger ones just do it
leave conversation to the aged
leave the time wasting to the sexless, the smug and the sadistic
with whip-hands, caustic tongues and hopes
their celebrity ideals and role-model delusions.
He slaps himself hard
about his bouncing cock, now to attention
she's so obedient, so disciplined, such a peasant in jewels posed here to fool,
that there's more to the nothing than just me and my pen.
Drop after drop
emotions to my already pounding mind
Water torture of their inevitable.
Incessant screaming like a menagerie's madness
animals gone wild in my invisible wilderness.
Water torture of their delusion
Drop after drop
liquid black lake a habit
Water torture hovering, cruising over and above.
Magical kingdom of knowing the understanding
Water torture pedestrian
Drop after drop
prone in the persuasion
Water torture killing the dreaming time
Visages weary of the fearful hollow steps
spired chain of vetebra shifts painful on memories.
Water torture century so many BC
Drop after drop
pouring frame by frame.
Water torture slowing to a death
Discovery against truth of life
well that finding is infinite and ever
Water torture justifiable massed.
Friday, June 11, 2010
You torture me with your "How pained am I "?
a weak attempt to seek an end
a cry for sympathy and understanding.
You disgrace those who'd call you friend.
Scared to face the ghosts that haunt
to face the nothing dead and gone.
Dwelt in that sordid pit you built
clung to your illusions way too long.
Now there you swing or on my floor you lay
What do you want?
You've drained me empty
What I had for you long snuffed out
I can't rekindle feelings I don't have in me
A whole life of choices made
the way you went well lit before you
a path trodden by the past imperfects.
The glass walls too dark to see through
hands they proffered were slapped away
by the one so feeble, turned old
no spirit or will left to challenge.
From the warmth of life to the Death flow cold.
You're at my door and before you knock I've opened up and let you in
I heard the silent foot-steps and felt the exhaled breath
smelt the scent that is your core
it's why you've come, a tear spilt for more.
The brush of lips
"What was that you said"?
an apology for the heart gone dead.
To the cradle the full-grown child, rock me gently to sleep
The unintended pleasure of pain
you touch my skin I come alive again.
Four green balls match the four green walls, match the shirt and heart tossed aside.
The basic need feeds a basic greed
wrap me up in warmth inside.
Do you sleep as I catch my breath and remember that final smile?
Will you lay here and share my dream if I dare to close my eyes
My head, my mouth, my heart and soul is full of the essence of you
my breathing matches yours
in nakedness the perfect view
How far away yesterday's words?
How far away tomorrow's dawn?
And if tomorrow never comes like this for ever more.
Turned on the charm not a drop came out
standing sober amid the drunken shout
Eyes that sting from their burning breath
you talk to me like we've only just met.
Talk is cheap but then so is a smile
you wear the right clothes but you got no style
Set adrift in a river gone dry
the feelings are there but it's too late to try
All those times when you knew who you were
when you though too hard, when you didn't care
Took the lonely walk down the shortened pier
would you be missed if you disappeared?
Doors stay locked-shut to hold out the world
alone in the dark when so much is heard
Even the darkness do close and so near
for Death and Love both hold no fear.
Did you catch a glance as I looked up through tear-filled eyes?
Did you see the cracks in my forced smile while we drank to old times?
Did you hear the voice choked with fear as we talked how we felt?
Did you still the shakes, in the aging frame, note firmness when hands are held?
Did you feel the bumps the goose left when you walked across my grave?
Did you see the way a back looks, not real pretty, when I turned and walked away?
If I had a zipper in my chest I'm sure my heart you'd steal
the friends I'd gathered round you'd turn to pigs so they could squeal
These balls of mine you'd chill 'til tears had filled my eyes
my tongue and lips, my gentle hands, would never touch your thighs.
Your pussy that seems so inviting has legs and a life it's own
to split its fur and taste it's life, I'd take me fill as I went down
My stiff and aching muscles that fit your hand just right
A treasure trove both yours and mine hides and inch away from sight
The spikes full of hate that fire up their veins
like memories of friends they'll never see again
makes distance and time too vast to bridge
the truth like sweat that beads on their lips
Alarm bells unanswered scare life from the night
a cat among pigeons when the able take flight
Footprints in sand that vanish in waves
You've all seen the sign that says "Jesus Saves".
How frail the victims mind?
Solitude with time to find
an end to meaning
what means the end
Lies in haste that waste the friend.
Doors they've slammed shut to keep out your cold
the stare of sure eyes, what you're told, "We've been told"
The unseen, unending, that leads to your door
in a life over-burdened that screamed out for more
in a world where your name became somewhere to hide
to the brink of extinction on the back of a lie
Times when you felt surrounded by Death
both those present and absent having trouble with their breath.
You're flushed and you're cold
you're horny, on "high-beam"
Would you fuck me if I asked, if I had time?
I'm on a mission, twenty minutes I've got
more than enough
a touch enough.
The slick slide, an explosion inside
an apology, an explanation, "It's been a while"
Your smile, your stance
You shuffle, almost dance
Did I move you, swell you with pride, my attention somehow reassuring?
Your brown eyes see me as they talk to your friend
I see the goose-bumps on your flesh, the moles on suntan
Your friend chats, wears the same jeans
then waist-high identical twins walk away
I wonder
"Another day".
Tell-tale signs of a life gone to waste
a lack of belongings, friends with no taste
no taste in friends like the mouth's gone dead
what was had was never lost, fear spins round your head
On first name terms with the "Man" with the goods
a non-interest loan, credit to see you through
Hours within walls, make a cell of you life
a million years too late to ask yourself "Why"?
The mirror reflects the well-lined child
the light shines bright on the meek gone wild
With inhalation, a pin-prick, ingestion you teased
to kill hours or days, or a life-time it seems.
a weak attempt to seek an end
a cry for sympathy and understanding.
You disgrace those who'd call you friend.
Scared to face the ghosts that haunt
to face the nothing dead and gone.
Dwelt in that sordid pit you built
clung to your illusions way too long.
Now there you swing or on my floor you lay
What do you want?
You've drained me empty
What I had for you long snuffed out
I can't rekindle feelings I don't have in me
A whole life of choices made
the way you went well lit before you
a path trodden by the past imperfects.
The glass walls too dark to see through
hands they proffered were slapped away
by the one so feeble, turned old
no spirit or will left to challenge.
From the warmth of life to the Death flow cold.
You're at my door and before you knock I've opened up and let you in
I heard the silent foot-steps and felt the exhaled breath
smelt the scent that is your core
it's why you've come, a tear spilt for more.
The brush of lips
"What was that you said"?
an apology for the heart gone dead.
To the cradle the full-grown child, rock me gently to sleep
The unintended pleasure of pain
you touch my skin I come alive again.
Four green balls match the four green walls, match the shirt and heart tossed aside.
The basic need feeds a basic greed
wrap me up in warmth inside.
Do you sleep as I catch my breath and remember that final smile?
Will you lay here and share my dream if I dare to close my eyes
My head, my mouth, my heart and soul is full of the essence of you
my breathing matches yours
in nakedness the perfect view
How far away yesterday's words?
How far away tomorrow's dawn?
And if tomorrow never comes like this for ever more.
Turned on the charm not a drop came out
standing sober amid the drunken shout
Eyes that sting from their burning breath
you talk to me like we've only just met.
Talk is cheap but then so is a smile
you wear the right clothes but you got no style
Set adrift in a river gone dry
the feelings are there but it's too late to try
All those times when you knew who you were
when you though too hard, when you didn't care
Took the lonely walk down the shortened pier
would you be missed if you disappeared?
Doors stay locked-shut to hold out the world
alone in the dark when so much is heard
Even the darkness do close and so near
for Death and Love both hold no fear.
Did you catch a glance as I looked up through tear-filled eyes?
Did you see the cracks in my forced smile while we drank to old times?
Did you hear the voice choked with fear as we talked how we felt?
Did you still the shakes, in the aging frame, note firmness when hands are held?
Did you feel the bumps the goose left when you walked across my grave?
Did you see the way a back looks, not real pretty, when I turned and walked away?
If I had a zipper in my chest I'm sure my heart you'd steal
the friends I'd gathered round you'd turn to pigs so they could squeal
These balls of mine you'd chill 'til tears had filled my eyes
my tongue and lips, my gentle hands, would never touch your thighs.
Your pussy that seems so inviting has legs and a life it's own
to split its fur and taste it's life, I'd take me fill as I went down
My stiff and aching muscles that fit your hand just right
A treasure trove both yours and mine hides and inch away from sight
The spikes full of hate that fire up their veins
like memories of friends they'll never see again
makes distance and time too vast to bridge
the truth like sweat that beads on their lips
Alarm bells unanswered scare life from the night
a cat among pigeons when the able take flight
Footprints in sand that vanish in waves
You've all seen the sign that says "Jesus Saves".
How frail the victims mind?
Solitude with time to find
an end to meaning
what means the end
Lies in haste that waste the friend.
Doors they've slammed shut to keep out your cold
the stare of sure eyes, what you're told, "We've been told"
The unseen, unending, that leads to your door
in a life over-burdened that screamed out for more
in a world where your name became somewhere to hide
to the brink of extinction on the back of a lie
Times when you felt surrounded by Death
both those present and absent having trouble with their breath.
You're flushed and you're cold
you're horny, on "high-beam"
Would you fuck me if I asked, if I had time?
I'm on a mission, twenty minutes I've got
more than enough
a touch enough.
The slick slide, an explosion inside
an apology, an explanation, "It's been a while"
Your smile, your stance
You shuffle, almost dance
Did I move you, swell you with pride, my attention somehow reassuring?
Your brown eyes see me as they talk to your friend
I see the goose-bumps on your flesh, the moles on suntan
Your friend chats, wears the same jeans
then waist-high identical twins walk away
I wonder
"Another day".
Tell-tale signs of a life gone to waste
a lack of belongings, friends with no taste
no taste in friends like the mouth's gone dead
what was had was never lost, fear spins round your head
On first name terms with the "Man" with the goods
a non-interest loan, credit to see you through
Hours within walls, make a cell of you life
a million years too late to ask yourself "Why"?
The mirror reflects the well-lined child
the light shines bright on the meek gone wild
With inhalation, a pin-prick, ingestion you teased
to kill hours or days, or a life-time it seems.
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