Wednesday, 12 October 2011

Past the Present

Cut open by the the hands of a Clock. Again.
Well it tickles it burns it gives me gass
Picking my teeth with a pendulum
Half way to a quarter past the past that I forgot that I papered my insides with so many faces.
Never an old face. Every face remains fresh and bright.
How many anchors now?
Take root! Take stock! Take pride!

Take a hike! The past is the puture putrid past future

Stuck to identity stuck to recognition stuck to fear of invention

Bulldoze bash smash exterminate and eraze and eraaaaaZzzzzzzzzzze

Ahhhhhhhhhhahahaha ease


Quiet breath in the air

Friday, 9 September 2011

The Back of My Head

Not sure how long ago now
But one morning, in the past, 
I woke up and was able to discern the back of my head.
And only the back of my head.
Perhaps I could see fractures of light
curving over my dome.
But mainly just the back of my head.
It's dizzying.
My life wandering around,
blowing a draft onto my own neck with each breath.

Then one day I swallowed my head.

It tasted dirty. For a long time.
Some hairs were so long
They tickled my intestines
While still having ample maneuverability 
To floss my teeth.
When it no longer tasted dirty it tasted bland.
A big licky sticky Werther's Original
that lost its taste before its time.

Eventually my tongue began to tingle
my head began to release juices
Fruit Juices
Cocktails of bright colours and with measures of zing!

My mouth was salivating so profusely
i thought i might drown in my own spit.
There was nothing for it,

I houghed and hacked and whelped
and eventually I heaved
And I coughed up my own head.
I coughed with such force that when I opened my eyes
My eyes were blinded by the light,
My nose was no longer tickled by the hair of my own head.
The back of my head was back where it belonged.
At the bloody back.

Now my eyes look very wide.
And I've developed a phobia of queueing,
I can't bear the sight of the back of a head.

Thursday, 14 July 2011

Murdoch Mystery

Portrayed persona you see
I tell you what i'd like you to know
sometimes i don't tell you what id like you to know
but just to ensure that you know it,
ill curl my lip
ill round my shoulders
ill jerk my hips
but you'll know what i want you to know 
amidst the smoke on the dance floor,
blaring though the PA
ill make sure my intent is portrayed
by the way i sip my rum
you'll know what i want you to know

but what of the rest of me
the world i cannot describe
what of the world that is not even mine
for that i cannot claim to know
the location of its key
what of the smile that only the mirror sees
the me that changes night by night
in flighty dreams
in nightmares
the person of the interior
that has privilege to swear
and behave like an oaf
what of that person
may he not swill in a trough behind closed doors
may he not fuck in the quiet of the barn
ill not tell you of much of me
maybe most on somedays
the days when i am most interior
when i am most the smoke of my cigarette
whispering into the night
into the morning and then the afternoon
and day again
the days when my shadow is more myself
than my lips
may i not have my days in the shade?

must i relinquish the innards of my eyelids?
must you see the pinky flesh next my bones?
is it not enough to know that it is the same colour as yours?
that i am made of the same truths and the same lies?
that my bones are ground by the same fallacies?
must you gather my footsteps 
to the extent that i can no longer bear to tread?

when in truth my innards are something only i can touch
when in truth my innards will always cause me more confusion
than anything else in this life
when in truth if truth can be squeezed from my soul
it will reveal life to me and only me

have my lips
my thighs
my hands wrapped around you

In truth my innards are not under lock and key
but they can truly only be seen by me.

Wednesday, 6 July 2011

3 Friends, 3 Enemies

Big, brown, beautiful and burst,
You reside in the house of a friend.
I sink slowly into you 
As my eyes roll back and I seek oblivion.
Cracked leather tickles my fingers,
gives me pleasure.
Constant creaking under me 
As I shift and jig on top of you.
How many secrets do you know?
Has a fancy of mine indulged on top of you?
You groan at chewing gum which falls from my mouth and coats your skin.
I stare at it blankly then forget it
And continue swilling beer from a can before i beg:
Release me my taxi fare home old and dear confidant of mine?

Royal blue, regal yellow,
How majestic you are in comparison to me,
The greying lump that mounts you with great force.
I weep and see your distinguished figure crushed by my indignation to rise.
Your grandeur becomes sodden with sweat,
How ghastly this scene has become,
A turd on a sliver platter.
Still your great arms almost hug me
As I hold on tight and wait for the morning.
Violent shakes and blurts of my insides
Do their best to make you look ironic.
I roll off and you slowly puff out to your original beauty,
I neglect to thank you for your patience.

Your attributes almost entirely hidden
By knitted blankets of
Red, green, yellow, blue, pink, white, purple, black.
Under the woolen mantle,
As well as me,
Lies your dark wooden structure
and adornments of pale green with embroidered flowers.
Again I'm a slump and again I make you look ironic,
I seem to mock those flowers
As they do everything they can to be sweet.
My nails cut into you without pity,
You are stoic and support me regardless.
If you were wise and really cared
You'd spring into action and see me on my way.
But why should you care,
When I just trickled Irn Bru down your side
With no intention of clearing it up.


Thursday, 9 June 2011

For You For Me

You’ll take me with you when you leave
I know not how to say goodbye
From you I can take all the words of the world and wrap them around me like a great tapestry
You define me in every way.
My tears long to know your thoughts, they trickle down my face and yearn for your touch.
My tears are the salt of my world, they tell me I am not alone.
Your tears are the salt of my world, they tell me I am not alone.
You are inescapable just as is my imagination.

Holy is the wandering thought,
Misdirection need not be misguided, we must know our path is always extending.
We sit together and we discuss our woes, I seek to help you out of the woods, I am right I am wrong I am you ten minutes ago I am you in two years.
The next moment is here it is the same as before, it is new as before.
As constant as my heart as the sun is my love for you.
I remember you always and I carry you with me,
You gave me my smile and you took it away
Distance always brings it back.
Distance from the moment is knowledge, is air, is calm.
To find calm we must first know upset
To be upset is to rejoice in humanity.
Our fear is our condition,
Hold me and know that my limbs are also yours,
Hold me and know that the air I breathe is also yours.

I am never alone just as you are never surrounded.
Take my tongue as your own and rejoice with me in that we are the same in our ignorance and knowledge of the world in equal measure.

There are as many different versions of the world as there are people in it.
No one is one thing or another – we must embrace our transient minds and know that tomorrow I’ll still love you as I love myself.
I am always an observer, I watch you fall and be revived.
I find this world so circular that sometimes I am bored by it, it takes your touch to wake me from backward thought and raise me up again as an explorer.

Be not scared of the dark, know that no dark can reign while you are here.
Let us roll in shit together let us wash together let us know that life is lived out in greys and sepia and reds and blues, deep blues, in beautiful emerald green and under the life giving sun.

Each moment I am renewed.
Breath fills me with new questions and answers too.
The question always more human than the answer,
To be without knowledge is divine
To ask the question is divine
To be happy without an answer is divine
To bathe in a sea of troubles is divine
To fall, divine
To do ill, divine
To take solace, divine.
My image is tainted in my mind
Just as you are tainted
Never have I been a saint
Never would I want to
My journey will be my own and yours too.

In ten years you will see me and I will be the same,
While I seek change and forever will, the truth is the me that I am now is constant.

I have opened my mind to fallibility,
I am made the way I am and would not change it,
I will always roll in deep emotion
You will always see me in deep confusion
You will see me strong
You will see me wise
You will see me breath taken
You will see me caring
You will see me foolish
You will see me lazy
You will see me certain
You will see me in a summer haze
You will see me drunk
You will see me laugh
You will see me elegant
You will see me hateful
You will see me spiteful
You will see me with my fellow man in my heart
You will see me on the edge of reason
You will see me in the mirror just as I see you.

I am running a race, the finish line never in sight
I will run till I cannot run anymore
On the run I see the world in all its shades and hues
Repetition rarely gets boring
The repeat is always a different version of the truth
This is our nature.
I see man loving man
With lust or a fist or pity and glee and excitement and bewilderment and disorder
Love being a series or disordered breaths that force their way to our stomach and make us squeal.
I see the absence of love which can only be an absence of understanding
See me with the eyes of your man to your right or with the eyes of the man lying six foot under or with the eyes of the man you have not yet met but have imagined, have tailored in your mind since you were a small child.
I see death
Absence caused by nonsense
Forced absence, we shrink from foresight, from wisdom
Man cuts man so deep, so deep that we loose sight of thought and become consumed by action
Parading emotion garishly, we must
take pity on the man
scold the man
love the man
recognise the man
at times become the man
without the sight to recognise himself in his victim.

The passing of time has made my life less complicated
I am less confused by the world, the confusion I have I accept as my life
Youthful tears are never forgotten
Youthful tears are the best ones
At least the first ones that set us up for the rest of our lives.
Only so many things a man will cry for
I find a plane of understanding.

Lets go out and bathe in every inch of our humanity
Lets us celebrate the imperfection of our race
In the dancehall
I read aloud the words of great poets and I scream them into the sky, I hear not my echo but I see your face, your eyes, your breast, your feet.
Your feet that tread the same streets as mine, your eyes that see the same sun as mine.

I am tearing myself away from a thought in order to maintain my growth,
I have delved too deep in my imagination
I have lived a thousand days with you in my mind, we have held each other, once you punched me and made me bleed and I didn’t care because I was blinded by love. I loved you so blindly that I stopped loving myself. I saw myself as your aid to lean on, I asked for no consolation. In my mind we were great lovers that knew no restraint. My body ached for you, my stomach in knots. what is this thing called love? Is it not just an obsession with lust? Frailty that our humanity should demand that we fuck, should demand we find a lover, should make me forget myself, should make me see not even you but a version of you that I keep for myself. For a time I chose you, I wonder will that time ever end. The time I spent locked in imagination is time I have wasted, is it not? I have not achieved any change for myself or for you. I laugh long at my flaws, my flaws that you have helped me illustrate! I play the fool, I am a fool, a fool for you.

I sometimes spend days laughing. The world is peppered with jokes which sometimes I fail to see. The tilt of a homeless mans hat seems to invite me in, his eyes weary but merry none the less – beautiful. My cries are not so woeful now that I know the feeling will pass. And pass a feeling does just as everything in this life, absolute is a fallacy. I’m a bit of this and a bit of that. Some days more of that. Some days not. Some days I am more at the boundaries of my humanity than others, I usually remember these days well for they are days when I change, change my mind, my path, my friend, my lover, my aesthetic, my poem for the world.

What is the difference between my impulse and my measured mind?
Which is more myself?
Am I instinct or deliberation?
Of course I am a combination of the two but if I could be more one than the other what would I choose?
I am an animal
I am a scholar
I have claws and teeth
I have a library and a thirst for knowledge
I have desire
I use my words to understand my lack of inhibition
The animal knows no guilt, me in my drunken state, acrimoniously disrespecting my morals
Fighting with you fighting myself
I feel the punch you never gave me harder than the one you did, because it’s the punch I gave myself.
I slip slide under the truth and avoid its eyes, hell is not scorching but cool and grey and dank, it sees double, it falters, it letches without thought or interest, it fucks me hard and without love, it leaves me standing in a hallway staring at the floor, it stares at me, it ties up my stomach ten minutes too late, it makes jokes and teases me in the morning.

How at such a young age can I feel so without great sadness?
This transient life takes me many places, shows me many things, I feel like a cannot be shocked any more, not by my actions or yours.
The ability to be shocked is a gift, to be thrown out of joint forces us to change, continues our evolution. If I cause you rage or great joy I seek evolution but it does not come. Any surprises?

Have you any surprises?
Have you any fucking surprises?
Write me with love
Write me with hate
Write me with an arrow for my heart
Write me in
Wrote me out

The world so complicated yet so simple
Perhaps I should become a scientist if only to be immersed in confusion

Teach me of your experience,
This humanity is more complicated than I give it credit for
My earthly bones mix not too well with my ‘craving to be lofty’ mind

These thoughts must have come from you as from me,
We share this place that we call our own
We are a society
We are together
What could seclusion offer me?
What would I find?
If not you then what do I have?
I need you to tell me who I am,
Am I good or am I bad depends on you
Am I happy or am I sad depends on you
If I not know you I not know love
If I not know you I not know the beauty of the morning as it reflects in your eyes
If I not know you I be wild
Wild as the birds in the sky
Can I ever go as I please?
My mind is split and shared with everyone I have met
My mind is not in two places at once but in hundreds
Would it please me to know myself without you?
A sigh in an empty land has no hope of being heard, nor a shriek of joy at the feeling of ice cold water on your back.

I am made in the image of a creator
I long to indulge my hands
I take a strand of your hair and a strand of mine and tie them together
The different colours twinkle in the sun.
I use your hands to smooth the rough edges of my masterpiece
Our eyes keenly shave off unneeded details.
When it is done your tongue utters the name of my creation
We make love in its shadow out of reach of the sun.

I am the image of the creator
I am the hands of the creator
I am the mind of the creator
I am the soul of the creator
I am the heart of the creator
I am you. 

Wednesday, 8 June 2011

The Horse

Dirt on the wheels of the cart seems to mimic my grimace,
Hoofs in the mud fighting off insects and climbing away from the earth.
Down down down the road
Past the old pub, too many late nights and holes in pockets,
The horse majestic
And me in the tails of its majesty
In the eye of the horse such a wild nature
Can a man be so justifiably at one with the wind?
Still like the horse we can only move forward.
I have fear
The horse knows my fear
I am he he am I
The horse knows no constraints of morality
Still he manages to be noble.
The battering of the wind and those hoofs on the ground
The mud draws a thousand pictures on my trouser legs
The sky above me growing by the second
The horse dominant under the sky and myself beside him.
We will walk together.
Find me by the river.
Find me by the gate.
I find sleep and when I wake the horse is gone
I hear the gallop in my mind
Go go go go go go go gog og gog ogg go
The wind as time chases the horse across the field
I am chased
The horizon seems small when you are on the run
Oh to walk again so slow and find stillness
The sky need not loom but be a pool to dive into
I wonder on that horse
I wonder on the wild;
When I find him once again I will learn to ride
The wind will no longer chase me but support me into the big blue
Big blue that is in my heart that is my soul
The sun that is in my heart that is my soul
With the heart of the horse that beats beats beats so rhythmically
Then you will find me wild under that big blue
Standing walking running strong under that big blue with the heart of a horse.
I wake next to a gate I find that I know the heart of a horse
I know fear and loneliness I know pride and wisdom
I have the heart of a man.

Wednesday, 2 February 2011


"You already know the truth"
You scream so fucking loud your anguish in your room,
In front of me I hear your voice chortle and lilt,
You inflame my eyes and stir my imagination.
Out the window was thrown a water balloon
Which landed square on a target who was not pleased at all,
In fact so displeased that he stayed outside my door for 3 hours
Hoping my laugher would subside and I'd come out and feel his fist to my face.
The touch I was denied that keeps me wondering till the early hours.
The gash that becomes a scab that becomes a scar 
that becomes a pattern across the face of a beautiful girl or boy.
Two strangers who never meet but walk along the same beach together
feeling the sea lap at their toes share a glance - terror, lust, inspiration.
Waking one morning to find you are no longer in love,
that life has a tinge of a different taste.
Scenes on the television showing the uprising of a nation,
the power of an idea whether the idea be understood or not,
pride or anger sweeping like a virus infecting everything.
"Never leave me"
The look of blood pouring from a wound that inspires so many other feelings,
guilt or retribution, fear or resolve.
The feeling of a lover sleeping beside you, 
the sound of their breath almost keeping you from sleep.
"You can be whoever you want to be"
Words written on a page 
and then dashed at the feelings of inadequacy that they inspire.
Arrogant boy being proud of admitting he's arrogant sticks his tongue out at my confusion.
Your sweet voice that never fails to curl my lips.
"I can't do this anymore"
My sweaty feet that stick out the bottom of the bed and chatter back at me.
the moment that is not silent 
but so profoundly without sound that it stays with you longer than any noise.
The look of a tear on the face of a friend.
The sound of a cigarette burning in the night air.
The phone call you never answer.
The fuck you or the I love you or the two fingers or the fuck that makes you change.