Utopia

"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.

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.