18 Jan 2016

Six hundred

The rules governing ones
Own behaviour
And how they obstruct happiness…

The very definition of
Getting in your own way
It is better to be like water, I know

But most days I
Desire so badly to be the brick wall
I can taste the grit and plaster on my

And while mass stupidity is rife
In my immediate environment
-          A hamster wheel of idiots

One dropping out, only
To be replaced without delay
By another replica dummy

This is my every week, and
On the weekends snow no longer falls
While the countryside drowns

Meanwhile they build up this town like 
Soon to have underground engines added
Blasting the whole population skyward

All this
And the rising sea
And the great depression
And World War 3
And the death of the Sumatran tiger

And the only thing on my mind
Is whether or not eating 600 bananas a year
Is too many
I swear to god…

13 Jan 2016

January thirteenth

Yeah, well. Here we are one year later. I guess to the day, but the doctors aren’t always right about everything are they. We only have that scribbled piece of paper to go by. I still have part of you here with me, a small pill box in my top drawer on which your brother penned your full name in simple calligraphy.

I am still thinking of where I should finally put you. To let you rest. But then the question… just one place? Or do I take you here and there, to the roads where we sat for hours on the curb, and the fields you would walk me through.

All of these places I realised long ago, were outside - far from both our homes. We only ever felt free while walking away. But I can’t really leave you in the park, or the castle ruins or windblown hillside, because it’s supposed to be somewhere you were happy isn’t it? And looking back, seeing the ghosts of our memories of this place, I struggle to remember where that was.

The beach I suppose. You were never any good in the city. From what you would write me, the sand and rocks and tide were the only constant for you. Looking out into nothing maybe the closest thing to solace. Waves taking you away from the land behind you. Always shifting. An always open door. So until I can get to the right place, I will just have to keep you for a little longer, in the only other place I knew you to be happy. Here, with me. 

I am in no rush to let you go.

4 Jan 2016

Logic blues.

The phone will not ring.
After days of waiting
It rang an hour ago.
That conversation now ended.

My stomach begins to settle,
Awaiting the cycle of the tide
To return.
Maybe now, I’ll eat again.

On paper it is
All so
It really is.

Clear as day and twice as sharp.
What they want,
What you have to give,
It all fits. Or at least you make it so.

But later you decide whilst
Somewhere beneath bedcovers,
To darken the ink a little more.
Make your mark.

Then it all falls down. Because
They do not want the real
They want the list.

For it is the BULLET POINT
That they require.
Your petty humanity can stay home

Maybe it’s intentional -
The cut nose/spite face
Pattern. When

You know
That you could do better.

But really
Why the fuck should you
Do better, just for them.

9 Dec 2015

Fake snow

A warm December
The most
Wonderful time
Of the year

But our senses flash red alert
Over the absence of snowmen
Or people falling on
Their asses left
And right

We feel unease from under
A single layer
No scarf
No gloves
Nose just peachy

There is a sickness in the air
The manufactured disappointment
Of humankind
We do not believe in the fat man
Any longer

And yet they insist on this image
Fake snow falls in every ad
The TV syringing goodwill into
Our veins

It is December
And all is white and glorious and fine
In their world

I turn the channel and
Immediately yearn for the life
Of the Ice Road Trucker
Perpetual winter ahead
Enough snow to bury that damn
Reindeer and his shiny nose

They coast over the white surface
Aware of the deep cracks below
Ready to swallow them at any moment
But their focus is 200 miles away
Over mountain pass and frozen sea
There is bravery
And poetry in their denial of the death just
Metres beneath the black rubber tread

It is too warm in here
And I realise the truck driver’s skill
At navigating that white surface
Preventing the cracks from
Taking him down to the freezing
Is exactly what I am doing here
Right now

The sky remains blue
It may as well be July
I yearn for the cold
I keep the wheel straight
And try to keep it on the road.