Edgy

Today that feeling is rising again.
Great restlessness.
My mind sees the world through the sinews of an uneasy stomach.


Makes me laugh to feel this blank,
Ripping more pages. Still Nothing.
Today inhibitions are few: they seem silly,
I'm loosing myself in an orchestrated panic.


Take off your clothes and bathe with me.
I won't be clean till you see the dirt trickle off my back,
Till the dirt is diluted and I can pick it up in my hands and taste it in my mouth.
You wont be clean till I see you wash.


This gaze is tiresome and the day becomes eerie,
The window and the view so familiar that I curse them.
A walk in the world my only hope,
avoid distraction for a Fall into distillation.

In the Garden

All the men are in the garden.
They are trading, but they are not doing business
Some of them win big.
Inside a glass house the windows are steamy and any cracks in the glass are covered
With electrical tape or cement that my father bought from the DIY shop.
Still through the cracks I peek at the garden outside and I've noticed how the plants change so much over time,
they seem not only to grow but to mutate or rather
Evolve.
In a glass house maintenance is never neglected.
In the center of this glass house there is a pedestal on which my father placed a pot,
in which my father planted the most beautiful plant
its silver leaves reflect the light of the sun and under a glass house they also get very hot.
Hot, heated, ferocious, this plant is so vicious in its beauty that I have rarely seen it.
Inside a glass house looking out
The garden has flourished this summer,
The men have been busy working, weeding,
Raking, writhing, wrestling with unruly weeds and mutinous insects.
Inside a glass house there is stillness,
A silver leaf would be heard to touch the floor if it dared,
My father is diligent, a pin will unlikely drop.
The men are in the garden and their hands are red from work
ragged fingernails and bulging veins, they mix the earth
the sun dries the mud on their palms, in the garden.
In a glass house silver leaves burn the eyes 
and In a glass house though you jump or stumble to save your sight the floor always holds you up
Then my father dons his gloves for pruning.
The door of this glass house lies open
And all the men are in the garden.

Long Stand

I stand strong
the power of the earth rises up through my body
The earth keeps me strong and I keep it strong.
I stand strong before the weak,
they do not experience my gaze for my eyes shall not meet theirs
I stand strong and my sadness sits low in my being.
Though I reach for it to feel its purity it eludes me.
I stand strong while I search.
I search and search and I search.
I remain strong.
And I remain strong.
I walked through blessed summer and autumn
I strolled
I stood strong.
And in winter I was warm.
I was strong and I was warm.
I would dip my fingers into the ice and remain warm,
Even in silent still frustration I could not feel the cold.
I'll stand strong.
Hold me.

Ode to a Dead Horse

Its eight o'clock in the morning
we've got nothin' left to drink.
We're takin' cocaine substitutes
and she's got her head in the sink.
And who would have thought
I've got two degrees?
Who would have thought
Id be sleepin' under trees?

And then you ask yourself,
was it something you chose?
Was the world you wanted stolen
from right under your nose?

Now we're into the afternoon
The mans been back,
No one really knows or really cares
if we're snorting crack
And who would have thought,
that that girl that you met,
who would have thought,
You'd never hit the back of the net?

And then you ask yourself
what would your mother say?
And then you ask yourself
Should I call it a day?

Well the sun just set again,
you ain't feelin', or looking your best.
I can see one friend in the corner
but I'm damn sure I don't know the rest.
And who would have thought
Partick could be this bad?
And who would have thought,
surrounded i could be this sad?

and then you ask yourself,

was it something you chose?

was the world you wanted stolen

from right under your nose?

You resolve to change,
just after this comedown stops hindering you,
when you no longer have to punctuate your sentences
with an inappropriate achoo!

and then you ask yourself,

was it something you chose?

was the world you wanted stolen

from right under your nose?

Like a Child

Never just an unmade bed but a sock stuck to the duvet,


beat the beat the beat in my ear running through my fingers


lost clothes and accessories of a pig farm, rotten thought with sharpened tongue and dulled wit


searing suggestion and anticipation, reach up reach. reach.


in a tree high above the ground that looks so small and useless when the sky looks so big and attainable.


power behind me licking at my back and my feet


Lost in a haze, mellow and confusing, easing pleasing


escape or awake

Into the Sun

I stare into the sun, I stare into the sun
I feel my heart raise to support my head as I stare into the sun.


Burning deep to the core. of me. into my mind and my memories,
many faces are lit up and i am confused and displaced.


My face is brightly lit, I am naked in my stasis.
An orange haze dresses my hearts desires,


each person on that road so specific to the palate,
And they too stare into the sun.


I stare into the sun, help me stare into the sun.


I fight the need to look away from the skin that slides off his face,
those bones that hold up a man become a cage before my eyes


and what release? We must stare into the sun.


I long for a taste in my mouth that points away from the sun,
But I will stare into the sun. I will stare into the sun.

ttthhhhhppppwwwwwwww

Of late my emotions have flooded the moments. At least the moments I remember. Mostly music has been the instigator. The instigator of a feeling which I long to embrace more wholly than I have done before. I listen to the music which I feel comes close to defining ecstasy or absolute freedom, music which embodies relinquishment of fear, music which penetrates the heart, the soul, the mind and that other faculty which I cannot name or aptly describe but which enriches every molecule of my physical body and each segment of my spirit.

Because of the Living

Because I may sit among you I light my soul for a look in your eye,
Because I may distinguish your expression from a thousand others I climb high out of the earth to risk a fall,
Because your laugh mixes with the squeals found in nature I furrow the earth of my heart and I take you in as my own.
Because the dirt may stick to your skin, blemish your holiness, exude your confusion, because I can feel your hand squirm in mine or grab me in need or release me with exactitude I bare my face, my body and I take relish in the sound of my voice echoing in the field,
Because your soft thighs thrust with such vitality and lust I shave my head to feel the air closer to my innards,
Because the sound of your song fills my soul with such gentle murmurs and vibrates in my memory whenever I wish, I throw myself to the bluest sea and I swim till exhaustion to the glorious shore,
Because your sweat mixes with sin and the saintly, because you speak of love and passionate revenge, I colour my mind with unimaginable pride and fear and luxurious wealth of self,
Because you expel breath against my neck and leave footprints in the mud I raise my arms to the sky and I thrash relentlessly in the beauty of the unimpinged reach of humanity.

Choose

I am not a mindless automaton 
I thank god, I thank fuck,
Fuck that is the beginning of all things.
I am not a mindless automaton
and my mind wanders
when I smell her perfume
drifting across the room
or dancing around my neck. 
The breeze releases me from silence
and I remember
the natural form of my shoulders
my hips
and my eyes relax for humanity.
I stop and fall down
and instead of getting up
I might lay for a while
until I feel the earth under my nails
and the day has changed colour
and the people have eaten a meal
and some god has been thanked
and some innocent has been educated
and some unity has been made
and I have been filled with breath.
I am not a mindless automaton
and I desire a new taste in my mouth
and a texture that will repudiate my senses.
Though I have thorns in my side and citrus
in my wounds
I seek no revenge,
I balance with their lack of remorse
and we fill the space where a relationship might be
with interest in other things.
I am no mindless automaton
and in the lane I notice
the broken bottles
and the ants scurrying home
and one lonely glove
and I notice a puddle of piss
that surely belongs to the man shuffling ahead of me
with the torn green plastic jacket.
I am no mindless automaton
and I can pause where ever I choose.

after it all

First realizations of lust creeping along the sofa
with you cracking the whip
Laughs begin to bubble before they can be sure they are amused
A coy radiance chances to awaken the senses
The moment plays host to a wave of alteration
and finally our eyes meet with sharpened intent
glazed over inhibition and one imagination


At once I am torn
I long to stay at this inception and reconcile with uncertainty
Yet I wish this intoxicated haze would lift
so I could see us through a clear lens
Back down the rabbit hole
and I'm happy just to lay with you
But we don't
And in your grasp I find again my humanity
and everything is stripped away
In this simplicity there is nothing to speak
and I hold your gaze long and delicately


I leave before the morning 
and one night remains unsoiled by too much thought
Should we meet again
I know I'll have only the moment
and my senses
to rely on

So long, my friend

I deleted you from my phonebook
I'll not make you squirm anymore
While you enhanced my fantasy
I see now I've been playing out the same story
for weeks
I merely crave inception and with you
the dawn was always bright red
But this ground hog day must find a close
because its wearing me down
Your imaginary lips are becoming coarse
I might become bitter but I prefer to simply change
Change the angle of my view
the target of my tongue
I might say we missed out
but I'll not hold you over a barrel
My mind is fleeting and my hands
relinquish quickly a squirming prize
I kiss the air and and I gesture 'so long'

Joyful Neglect

I wake and peel my face off the pillow i've been clutching all night, it's soggy, my lips grimy.

I roll out of bed and walk right into the doorframe, the bruise on my arm throbs, my lips curl to a secret smile.
I get into the shower and I start the water, I wash; after scrubbing my face I reach for the towel that I have neglected to sling over the shower door. I turn off the water and run naked through the house, bathroom to utility room looking for a towel. Cold droplets of water run off my body and onto the carpet. I poke my toes into the wet patches.
Breakfast bent over the laptop checking messages and forgetting to eat.
On the train and pulling out my ipod to realize the earphones are still in the laptop, instead I close my eyes and try to pick up some dreams where I left them.
Walking through crowds, immersing my senses in the pattering foot steps around me and in the high sky, I don't hear a friend shout my name.
Work is a breeze, living inside my head, text text text, wait wait wait.
Then golden pints of beer swilled down quickly, cigarettes and flashes of eyes and skirts, and wandering thoughts, if not hands, and cranking music grinding at my head my face my back my chest my hands my dick my legs my feet then an eager conversation disregarding convention of self preservation. confession, exaltation.
A stolen moment, me and the night, my cigarette burns all the way down without my taking a single draw.
Caught short with no paper in the toilet, no filters in my tobacco packet, dropping mayonnaise on my shirt at work along with flour off my Greggs roll, absent mindedly peeing down my jeans at the urinal then walking around for hours, up and down the style mile, with my fly open, handing over a twenty instead of a tenner and walking away without my change, sending misguided text messages at 3 in the morning or even 2 in the afternoon, misreading my train times and turning up 5 minutes late,waking up gripping my jaw, 


For all of these things that I joyfully neglect, I have you to blame.

A Wish

What if I could offer you absolute freedom?
What if you wouldn't be judged for your inner most thoughts?
Would you tell me something you've never told me before?
Would you allow yourself the journey of a forbidden thought?


In days past I've thought your eyes were trying to tell me something,
I've thought about a hundred different statements your might want to declare,
The best ones are to do with me.


If at any moment you could be in touch with your most honest heart
Would I see you spread your arms and transcend yourself?


Sitting on a chair, head in hands
Smiling a familiar smile, looking into a brick wall, a mirror.


A millions hearts all following their own desires causing chaos far and wide,
Out of this chaos might we extract some order?
I hear the chirp of quiet satisfaction
I hear the roar of final deliverance.


Claim freedom from the society which defines you,
Freedom for yourself excluding all others.
Can you be specific with your own philosophy?
Can you offer yourself the freedom to change the book you read from?


Your eyes are beautiful, let them run deep.

Note

Flat to flat.
Door to door.
Thoroughfare through thoroughfare.
We travel the padded satin and the beautiful retched cliffs.
I will travel far, I will escape the well trodden road.
This cape of knowledge that I cherish will hide me from purveyors of evil.
I have faith.
Faith in the eyes of another,
Your eyes reflect my face and I know now your eyes are the same as mine.
For you cannot know more than the wind,
Or feel deeper than the sea.
In our shared ignorance of the inspiration for nature
And our awe of the vast expanse
We will find enrichment.
We will find ourselves.
We will find each other.
We will find the ability to feel and share joy.

To Work

Tartan blankets filling my gaze
misshapen pillows from last nights dreams
nature defeating the will.
soon to scramble for the shower again
hair can wait another day
same jeans as yesterday again.
and on the train to work
To work when I could be studying the world map and figuring out which airport to fly to
when i could be poaching eggs and layering on the salmon
when i could be learning from Rimbaud how to unleash youth with decisive power
when i could be searching myself and my work with intentions of distillation
when i could be lying in the snow to find out how long one can stand numbness
when i could be watching pictures, seeing fragments merge into momentary perfection for the senses
when i could be staring into their faces
when i could be getting myself into dirty trouble
when i could be against a wall sniffing at regret
when i could be eating hungrily at the flesh of consolation
when i could be driving my forehead into the air with the idea that at speed i might surprise natural motion and knock myself out with approving joy
when i could be under water kicking for life and for affirmation
when i could be sitting with my head in a lap making a memory into god
when i could be winning at the most unlikely game of cards
when i could be cursing those who have wronged me with absolute conviction
when i could be philosophizing with a stranger in a dark corner with wine stained lips and hips
when i could be running across the Ponte Vecchio, through the Uffizi with arms out stretched
when i could be exuding an idea of style with intention to unnerve
when i could be telling my favorite joke to group that fail to see the laugh
when i could be hurting so much i am reminded of my physicality in the world
when i could be thrashing and kissing and smoking
when i could be failing
when i could be sitting at a wooden bar in the south of ireland sitting next to an estranged uncle who assuredly speaks english
when i could be listening to the rain diffusing on the window
when i could be

A Prayer

I was standing on the rocks. 
Away from the shore and the lapping tide.
Away from the foaming waves, the torrential dance.
Away from the pebbles, the shells,
Away from the collected crap of aluminum cans and worn but still branded plastic packets.
I was standing by the rocks, high above the sea.
Under the same sky that contorted before my eyes,
Under the sky that stretched out before me and was pink at the end.
Under the sky that had seen infinite mornings but always with a new face.
Under the sky, the most beautiful arc of colour and deliberate undertaking.
I remained there among the rocks attempting to pin point the horizon
The space was vast and foreboding and the world dark around the edges.
Out of the dark came a great man.
His body engaged, his mind resolute.
His muscled arms hauled a huge red iron pillar, at least twenty or thirty meters in length.
On its side, as it made its laborious journey, the pillar seemed to split the sky from the sea,
The sky now was penetrable, I watched as the source of my anxiety was reframed,
Was mocked or hailed?
Was challenged or paid homage?
Was courted or ignored?
The sun creeping through gaps in the clouds, reflecting off the pillar making it into a beacon
A manmade beacon juxtaposed with all of natures beauty and omnipotence.
When the man arrived at the center of the scene he stopped
He noticed the varying colours of blue and grey and green in the water
He noticed the plastic packets floating in the foam
He noticed the houses in the distance which were sprinkled along the shore
He noticed the shells and pebbles at his feet
He noticed me now sitting on the rocks behind him
He noticed the sound of the breeze as it hurried through his hair, his fingers
He noticed the slowing of his heart after his exertions
He noticed his mind nagging him to complete his task.
And the man once again picked up the vast pillar, this time holding it vertically.
He raised it high above his head.
My heart raced, would the man dishonor this scene?
With one mighty movement he drove the pillar deep into the ground
It would never move again.
He stood back and took in the pillar in the landscape, standing alone for the first time.
He was satisfied with his prayer for humanity.
He moved off with strength and nobility, leaving the scene the way he had entered it.
Again I was alone and I found that I was no longer by the rocks
I was walking, running down toward the sea, toward the pillar.
I arrived at the pillar, standing at the base and looked up
I saw the sky and it seemed closer to me now.
I sat on the ground and leant against the pillar and looked out,
I saw the sea and it seemed closer to me now.
I stood with my back against the pillar and I stretched out my arms
I felt the air supporting me,
I felt the sand beneath me supporting me
I felt the sound of the sea supporting me
I felt the movement of the clouds supporting me.
I stood on the beach and I felt complimented by the stature and integrity of the elements.
I felt my soul reflect the sea and the sky.
I felt I too could be vast.
I felt I too could be beautiful.
I left I too could be powerful.
I felt I too could be content.
I felt I too could be empowered by the cycle of life.

Rise Up

He must be trapped, strapped to his bed
I know he's dyin' to be dancin',
He is the same Empress we all once knew
Movin' into the beat by osmosis.
Tasty cheek tappin' on my table,
Everything is on the line now
Done it did it do it.

tomorrow

mum goes back to work tomorrow.

seems like she is always going back to work.

the washing machine is singing at me, still don't know how to turn it off though.

The snow outside is shoveled away again, it's marvelous.

The driveway is clear.

I wonder what she will teach her class tomorrow,

How to tell time or to eat with a fork.

The rudimentary has become very alluring of late,

alluring like sexy, sexy to be intwined in your on mission of discovery,

of self, only to find that black is much the same is white.

Which lips for me?

Yours? Maybe. Or not, you get a say of course, and I wouldn't accuse you of malignancy

because today mum is teaching geography, biology the morra.

history does make for more tender roots - in our own history, which perhaps we fabricate according to our needs.

History is written by the victors, and by those with an unknowledgeable audience.

New York

I dream of New York

I dream of the smell along sixth street, little india

The sharp bite of winter at your cheeks, slowly crushing your fingers,

Your hand still buried deep in her grasp.

Walking in chelsea extending your eyes and imagination into the hotel on 23rd street.

Sitting in a restaurant on king street, willing my beautiful Patti to venture out of her home.

Fur coats in soho, rushing clothes rails and flashing cameras, beautiful elegant girls

Sitting on a bar stool sipping red wine, or coffee, or erbal tea

Smooth legs to their armpits.

The smell of time square and the rush from the subway to the theater,

Leaving the theater hopefully hopeful and not disappointed. 

Eating 24 cent noodles, two packets for dinner, and another because they taste good.

Decorating another crummy apartment, feeling joyful.

All those inspired people that changed the world.

Huge piles of fruit at whole foods and fish and mountains of cheese, in individual plastic tubs.

The angelica cinema, weeping alone at another film, breathing deeply walking back to the apartment, glad to look up.

I dream of hours in Barnes and Noble, buying another poetry book when all those others on the red bookshelf at home remain unfinished.

The magnolia bakery, and sitting at a chess table eating a cupcake in the shade.

Uptown! Above 14th street, like a day trip to another city taken only once every two months.

Corn and batted eyelashes from those girls all dripping with personality. And the man in the top hat across the street, painting another daft pop art monstrosity. 

I dream of that wonderful solitude that only a city like new york can offer, alone in the park, part of a community of peace and silence for as long as you choose.

My love, with dinner on the table and surprises in the wings.

Treats on west broadway, getting lost in china town.

Burgers in corner bistro, beers thrown down the bar.

Dollar oysters in the lower east side and Decent wine in my favourite restaurant in the world.

Meeting strangers of fame and monopolizing a Karaoke booth!

Spending money which you dont have on booze or fancy dinner or another item of clothing.

Magic hour, following in the footsteps of my hero.

Truly living a dream.

I love to love New York.