Supposed a slip
but the ground fell away
your trajectory twisted
inelegant sprawl
red zone suspension
through the muddy squall
negligent absence
darker distractions
Cry wolf/help/blame
a learnt malevolence
staged rage.
But no matter:
it is all wrapped pain.
There is no possible
control of what
should not be;
neither should we
suffer unduly for that
which is done to us
for there is a future
when we catch each other.
My friends
we will gather again
and speak to
the russet glow we share,
our greying growing hair,
and seek to
salute the past with grace,
and then
share our fire and follies;
show photos
of those who went before,
of those who’re coming after,
sons, daughters,
our triumphs and our glories;
make amends
for sharp words half-forgotten,
give peace to
this world in disrepair
the ever-heating air
where, brief though
life may be, the beauty is we were
such friends.
Money funnels are a curse
Take your hands out of that purse
You stole a future, hid it well
That none of this was yours to sell
The only trickle-down to date
Is piss from broken cisterns, mate
You took our stuff for a quick quid
Which was not yours, but don’t tell Sid
Recite these words into a mirror:
Jesus Christ loves every sinner
But let’s be frank. Don’t you remember
What He did to money-lenders?
Well, clearly not. You stole the Bible
You auctioned the manger in the stable
You spend your time inventing needles
With loopholes big enough to wheedle
Money comes, and money goes,
Today’s allies, tomorrow’s foes,
The dance of nonsense sputters on
Your feet are caught, your time is done
Take your hands out of my pocket
Your rhetoric is foul and rotted
You sold us out. You sold us off.
But Karma – justice – is powerful stuff.
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
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.
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
o i wish
there was a god
to curse
or one
to comfort
but
a wish is not
a truth
o i do
not want this
chance to say
goodbye
not yet
no
stay
stay stay and
stay
o i wish
there was a better
place
try and
go to one and
please
make a fool
of us all
For Duncan x
