His Name Was Nobody

There’s a dude I know whose only remaining ambition in life is to own the world’s largest collection of pornographic medieval marginalia

Confusing as it may seem I believe in his passion project as one of the final examples of purity in the modern age

He spends much of his time jacking off into ever starchier squares of muslin which he bought once from a Turkish market

He was so proud of his haggling that it was all he could do to keep himself from taking it out and bludgeoning himself to a finish there and then

His name is Nobody and he wants it to be known that he cares not a jot for your contra-indications

No, not a single bileous grunt will bubble up from that fumbly gutbush

He has recourse to a fine line in gibberish and hapful deals it behind the jukebox at the bar downtown

Of course, you enter at your peril as the sneers are quite astronomically griftsome, but Nobody never said that this would be a cakewalk, boy

He keeps it low, lower than you’d imagine: his scene is no example for any upcoming garbler

At one stage he’d considered making it professionally but had to let that go when he was discovered to be as broken as anyone else

More than some, and that was really enough to be said on that one. Yeah, Nobody is a dude I know and he makes it thinking about life in fetters and chains

The more he thinks, the less he does, and the paradox is shamefully brilliant, and beautifully delivered on many a sticky wicket

He ain't beholden to none and that’s why he is who he is

At root it’s only common courtesy after all

So sings the whale in the sea

As if that shit ever helped anyone float

Nobody's mammy has a mantra:

Remember to do your stretches

a groin strain is more debilitating than you think

Heavy is the Head

If heavy is the royal head that wears the royal crown

then take it off, and free yourself, and melt the bastard down

and think about the land you have, and who you stole it from:

return that to its owners – us – and get a real job.

Take a moment here, too, to really contemplate:

Is accident of birth enough to be a head of state?

If you surely are born to rule then here’s a quick suggestion:

Run as a normal candidate in a proper election.

Dismantle the whole edifice; the palaces and pomp

are expenses we just don’t need. And if the people want

a democratic, equal opportunity UK

then let the royals abdicate, and give us back our pay.

“They bring in tourist cash,” say some. “It is our history.”

Well -  nationalise this golden cage. Don’t give ‘em up for free.

Parade them for the gawping masses. Charge ‘em entry, too:

but first admit that what you’ll have’s a royal petting zoo.

Ay. heavy is the country’s head that accepts royalty

Without a check or balance or accountability.

Throw off the weight; cast off the chains; grow up and look around;

It’s morally repugnant to pay for this fetid crown. 

The Code

Neglected impossible cravings are sparking and spiking in me

Awry and implacable rantings and ravings are fighting in me

a jarring mass of garble

and there’s too many words

a multiplying mulch

A flashing of devilry spitting and grasping and biting at me

it’s never felt so good

A wrecking ball swinging and smashing its chaotic locus through me

Relentlessly rubbling, belligerently bubbling laughter at me

a callous rasp of triumph

accords its lousy rush

a disenchanting crash

A tumult of discordant snatches of melody jeering at me

a tongue-tip out of reach

I’m ever so careful to only make promises that I can keep

My sense of proportion is veiled in distortion so forgive my slip

a gremlin in the tower

the power lines are down

the traffic lanterns flash

A cascade of morally suspect delusions spews drivel at me

and I spew it right back

An unwanted presence, a juddering essence is spluttering in me

Push down on the pedal, recoil at the resulting stuttering beat

and no-one knows the keycode

is written in my bones

the one thing that I own

Distracting, contracting, a test tube reacting asks poison of me

or cadence or release