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9 August 2020

Attritional

 

3 am again
same old

same old

pavlovian routine

the incessant splatter

of bloody raindrops

on my window panes

the drip, drip, drip

of memories predisposed

to the devices

of my wicked

but splendid fallacies


my nights grow fainter

and are spent figuring

memorial alphabets

into novel expressions

that pierce my eardrums

to fill my head

with poisoned splinters

 

a little milk and honey

is all I’m asking

a little milk and honey

to nourish and sustain me

through the bitter hours

before the coming dawn

 

more haste – less speed

the minutes stretch out

racked in terrible instance

tortured in the passing


the throbbing mechanism

of desire

the beatings of fleshy drums

pulse off into nowhere

on and on

and on


the cycle persists

through the dim morning

cold grey light

seeping gently in

through empty windows

framing the silence

with spine chill

and frozen sap

another day of coffin nails

and cellophane smiles

of sleeping lovers

faraway in time


there are three

great mysteries

life, love and death

and they compass all

 

our little knowledge

borne like jewels

is of no advantage

in the face of the unknown


deep in the heart of the sun

the sound of tiny hammers

beating on golden anvils

forged in the fragility of being

ring in a single wavering note


they are pounding out our lives

with the finest of intentions

but I cling to that great curve

with my suicide pants

bunched around my ankles

and my arse hanging in the wind

 

I long ago abandoned

any pretense of modesty

and my protestations of innocence

sound ironic in the circumstances

all I seek in this theatre of distraction

is the instant gratification of minor vices

and the reassurance that I am good people

despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary


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