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21 August 2017

Bagman

Brass-Knuckles

There was a crock of shit at the end of my rainbow. That’s the very first time I was gifted anything for nothing. There’s irony in that statement cause brothers and sisters – nothing, not even shit, ever comes for free. I was once an archdeacon for the diocese of no hopers, now I’m a bagman for the combine. I collect what’s due them from the people of the parish. They shell out a little corn to those who’re in need and I gather the proceeds. I just come from stoving Fat Eddie’s face in. I get a little vexed when people don’t pay. For one thing I’m supposed to – it’s the nature of my job and for another I’m on a slice of the trim. It’s in my own interests that the punters cough up; so if they don’t then things can get rough.

Fat Eddie’s wife asked who gave me the right. I told her I was free to do as I pleased. She told me my freedom was an obscenity while I helped keep my neighbours in chains. That was something to contemplate; however briefly, I’m no philosopher so I wouldn’t know. I just do my job and don’t think about it, because in my line of work thinking doesn’t pay. If it was up to me there’d be no collections and we’d all live in peace like the good Lord says. But it isn’t up to me, so I do what I have to. Whatever it takes to keep my head above water. Times are tough and they’re getting tougher. I just play the game. I don’t make the rules.

Some local loser followed me from Eddie’s. My tracks were still warm and revealed my bloody feet. This joker tried to tap me right there on the corner. I said I don’t do loans, I only collect them, but I gave him a sawbuck for temporary relief. My good deed done, I was soon on my way. I had places to go and people to meet. Business is booming on account of the recession. People are hard pressed, but they still have to eat.

They said I was a sociopath and a menace to society when they locked me up and lost the key. I just do my job to the best of my ability and hope that it’s enough to keep my people off the street. We all do what we think we have to. That’s the nature of the game we all play. We are all of us slaves to the system and no matter what they say none of us are free.

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19 August 2017

4:15 am

Eye_blk


a good night’s rest, so they say

is the next best thing to sleep

but I can’t stay still long enough

to get me some relief

I close my eyes on the world

to reveal a world within

I can’t divert my mind

from the thoughts

that are keeping me awake

I try my best every night

you don’t know how hard I try

there’s just no ease in the dark

but that’s the nature of the beast

the quirt cuts deep, yes it does

and won’t grant me no release

it’s a long slow death, so it is

when all I need’s a little peace

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La Folie a Deux (The Madness Of Two)

Lovers_01







we were once

as shooting stars

and counted

ourselves blessed

for we loved

each other so dearly

that people said

we were obsessed

but we strayed too

close to Earth

and gravitation

put us to the test

we fell for

an eternity

before we

came to rest

but we’d devoured

each others souls

while on our

celestial quest

we parted ways

so painfully

but it was probably

for the best

.

Gone

Bag_Blk

I wish you’d take your can of worms and collect your dirty sheets. I don’t care where you go, or if you pound the streets. Why don’t you gather your scant belongings, it really shouldn’t take you long. Just stick them in a plastic bag and leave me the fuck alone. I hate to show such indifference, but I’ve really had my fill. You only come here anyway when you have time to kill.

I’m sick and tired of you and the dramas you enact. I simply want you gone and now; please don’t ever come back. Whatever thrills tomorrow brings you won’t involve me. In any case your idea of fun is very rarely free. I’m tired of your misadventures and the hassle they entail. So I’ll no longer be there to bail you out of jail.

You’d best delete my number; I won’t be answering your calls. I’ve got other folk to talk to and they won’t roast my balls. I see you smashed the bathroom mirror. Did your reflection cause offence? Or was it just another case of psychotic self defence? I cut my feet on the shards you left, but it’s the last I’ll bleed for you. Your next donor stands in line for the abuse he’s no doubt due.

You can raise a glass in fond remembrance for all the shit that we have done. You know it really makes no difference, cause in a moment you’ll be gone. Last night was the last time you’ll sleep beneath my roof. I can’t say I’m going to miss you. It wouldn’t be the truth.

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18 August 2017

Tread Softly

Foot-Falls_blk

I just dummy up these days. No one cares to hear what I have to say. But I have seen what I have seen and I know what I know. I have witnessed our faint progress beneath remote uncaring stars and I know that we are bound to them by forces beyond our comprehension. The life of man, a single man, is of little significance in the great tide of events. Epochs have come and gone to leave no trace but fossilised remains in The Museum Of Natural History.

What shall I bequeath I wonder to those who come after me? Will some trace of my love linger still in the hearts of my progeny? I have no wisdom to impart them, no great insights to share. I doubt if I’ve had a single original thought in my entire life. If I could leave them anything it would be this advice; tread softly through this world, but don’t take the same route twice.

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17 August 2017

Sacrificial

Sacrificial_Lamb

it’s the stony silence

the morning after

a savage beating

the night before

it’s that fragile feeling

of quake and tremble

and those crimson stains

on the killing floor

the dawn reveals

the shameful secret

of blackened eyes

and fractured jaw

the sacrificial lamb

was led to slaughter

under dismal skies

by a man of straw

it’s a mouthful of ashes

and a handful of nothing

but the familiar lies

from his bloody maw


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16 August 2017

I felt the worm in my head offer me new directions in cynicism

WingedSun_Blk

I got to learn to pace myself – too many hours spent hammering the keyboard has left me weary. I need a good read to fuel my head. I’m sick of ekphrastic gesticulations. I’m sick of the rinse cycle. I should see a doctor, but he’d only kill my high. I dance around the fact totem; it never steered me wrong on the impulse, that’s what I like. I don’t have anybody looking after me. That’s pretty clean, if you get my drift. Everything is equal in the balanced mind.

I was never under sold on the flyagaric punch bowl. Everywhere I’ve been someone’s been there first on the dragnet – whosoever dips first – dips deepest. The rest are like swallows and dip, swoop and tumble while they drown at the end of the ice age. I never knew that I could freeze in the sunshine, but here we are at the dawn of a new slave – excreting waste through our trouser tubes. Grab the sun phone and dial me a new star, the one on my horizon is faulty.

Never trust the candy man; he thrusts your school gate charmer into the waiting fever pit with a flourish of savoury sputum wash. These rhythm jockeys got no function but functionality; there’s no art to their palaver. Talking through the back passage only rends the fashionista mute in the lexicon of poisoned pyjama linings.

It was once said by a person who once said it; that everything has been said and we merely repeat the shadow windings of unscrupulous fakers who cohabit in the vomit spectrum with come lately psychotropic droppings. I never adhered to that theory on account that it makes no sense – I prefer my nonsense to be writ large of the Buford scale. I like it to blow me away into the philistine groove that wailing monkeys retort to in the heat of passion.

That being said, it was once said that this has already been said, and by someone who said it better than me. I can only guess at the veracity of that particular article on account of my veracity meter is completely out of juice and I have no nose jam worth mentioning – except that I mentioned it in the passing because it was in the vicinity.

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13 August 2017

Shadow Dogs

Black Dog








for those we are about to deceive

may the profits make us truly grateful

and though we have been known

to fold our cards too early

we still catch them worms

cause there ain’t no flies on us

we was gifted twice in this life

as exponents of those killer graces

that grant us immunity from persecution

and with the promise of our chosen names

sanctified through industrial language

to never reveal our source code

or the identities of our sponsors

we was once foreign to the combine

and now we are its masters

long may we continue thus

in the pursuit of power

through knowledge

and to orchestrate the game

from the safety of the shadows

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11 August 2017

God’s Own Medicine

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send for a physician

one who can prescribe

god’s own medicine

a scripture green and gold

a liturgy soft and splendid

the only prescription

that’s good for the soul

I’m just an old fart

trading in words

just six feet away

from the bone yard

and a long way from home

some temporary relief

is all I can hope for

god’s own medicine

does that for me

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7 August 2017

Arsenic

Arsenic

There was arsenic in his voice, boozy and bitter with recrimination, dark and foreboding as a winter storm. He was hostage to his fate; tied down by a wife and mewling brats and locked into the mundane drama of domestic life. His only succour was the drink that made him mean and the memories that only fuelled his dissatisfaction.

He was something of a philosopher when drunk – but his homilies smelled of meat and murder, and his declarations were as brutal as his hands. His facts were plain as his daily bread – his fictions as transparent as his liquor. He seemed to sup from that poisoned cup that twists at a man’s insides. He spewed forth a venomous mixture of sarcasm and bile that burned the ears and shamed the listener. I can honestly say I never knew him. I never saw beyond the disguise. He was an enigma to me and a puzzle to my heart was my old man.

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6 August 2017

Jesus Is Waiting

INRI[5]

3 am again

and my mechanism

is stretched to breaking

tore a line from scripture

blessed are the poor in spirit

for they are on their tod

they haunt the early hours

searching for their God

but you know what they say

you’re never really alone

when you have a good book

solace comes in many forms

so I read the testaments

in search of consolation

and have been informed

that Jesus is waiting

but he can’t come

to the phone right now

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5 August 2017

Cockroach God

Roaches_Blk

Skid row junkies shuffle dance like broken bears. They smile spoiled milk and stink of stale sweat and rotted cloth. The zombie nation has risen. Semi stiff cardboard men – flaccid humanity face down in the gutter mix on hostile corners teaming with cockroach people. They are knives half shut with disgraceful wings.

Blood is brown clotted on the lips of scarecrow men with hair on fire. Three overcoats wrapped around breathless bodies with dull drunk or frenzied sober faces.

Searching for significance thirsty souls on a death mission dance the tremens for a sawbuck blow.Every bindle stiff who can lift his lids eyes you up for the short prize.

“Can you spare some change… “

And why are you here? Spectacle? Perversion? Did you get lost? Are you just passing through? Or have you joined the congregation of the cockroach god?

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1 August 2017

Bicycle Thieves

bicycle

you were famous

for the snatch and flight

the derailleur gears

and the headlights bright

those diamond drapes

with shiny stud collars

sharp as razor bills

in assorted colours

you always knew the score

where to be

and not to be seen

where to chore

and get away clean

you knew just how to come and go

those blanket ropes

and midnight runs

that only we would know

we captains of the road

were bicycle thieves

catch as catch can

the vagabond heroes

of numerous misdemeanours

and villains to a man

authors of a petty crime wave

diminutive in scale

but we had a grander plan

for staying out of jail

we all had our allegiances

we swore not to betray 

but as form follows function

just as all things must decay

we were merely chocolate outlaws

who would one day melt away


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