Goofballs

 some nameless arsehole     suggested that I was morbid in my preoccupations     but I exorcise my demons      with brisk forays into verse     I don’t need the remedy     just the culture     I own my shadow     I was forged in adversity     but that is true of almost everyone I ever knew      each had burdens to bear     and every burden borne        was a story to be told  

 

teach me to sleep     I feel like a mutt with three legs     I’m all awkward angles      and nauseous instance     a blunt blade drawn through rancid entrails      I’m expanding into unanswerable questions     goofball bums have no stories      they’re shambling zombies     and shadow men    those goofballs triggered my psycho reflex     I call that progress     I still get trapped in my thoughts     pure gestalt     no paradox     I’m running on empty     high on fumes     this is my parade     I don’t care what anybody thinks      seen from the shore      we are all of us drowning

hear my voice

V2 (carnage edition)

 

in appropriate order    the processional disconnect     mixed horses in midstream     an incessant pouring of cats and dogs     a menagerie of cold calls and strange encounters     to tell the truth     I’m having a V2 moment      earth shattering in its hellish brilliance     the cause of my ceilings cracked

I was cold-cocked      and lynched     by mercenary hyenas      then left to decompose in my own slime      my rotting bones ached with the stench of old ghosts    my cup overflowed with the heartache that burns     I was drowning in yet another tsunami of shit     I was stretched beyond breaking     with no place to lay my head      this was my Golgotha      my funeral pyre       I stand now in the ashes      bewildered and deathly tired     my friend Ross said it best when he told me he’d been carpet bombed       but had somehow survived

 

don’t remember me      not this way     put fresh flowers on my grave      pour ointment on my stone    smooth my sleep     and stamp my dirt down     you won’t meet me in heaven     my subscription has expired     I won’t be reaching for eternity     I’m imprisoned in this fleshy tomb        by my primitive vision of corporeal bliss        there will be no resurrection       I believe I’ve had enough of this

 

hear my voice

The Well Of Despair

The pursuit of pleasure led you here. You wanted the cool solution to your inner pain. You sought the ultimate high to fry your beans in; closer to death than you are meant to be.

Touch the cloth and kiss the ring. Do you love your man? Show me your money. Are you ready for that act of faith? Are you abased before your personal messiah?

This stuff is poison. They cut it with strychnine and weevil husks. The trick is to cook it well in lemon juice. Neutralise it so it don’t burn your brain. The last thing you want is a dirty hit sickening your veins. You just seek a little ease and a glimpse of immortality.

Just a spoonful of medicine helps ease the shit going down. A little inner fire will stifle the gag reflex before it chokes your mind. You’ve been self administering for so long now that you’ve forgotten what ails you. This cure will kill you, but there are worse ways to go. You say you feel no pain – I hope that’s true. I mean no harm to lepers like you. So come back soon. I know you will. The path of least resistance leads to the well of despair.

Insomniac

 

There are voices black with laughter harsh as crows barking. They call me by name while I cringe in an unholy place to await their passing. I will not face them in the dark of night, nor confront them in the light of day. I fear their taunts and rebukes. Their arrows are unerring and practiced. I will not struggle against them, for they are my children. They are the offspring of my failings.

When the evening tide wanes in vile bilious waves; I settle behind curtains drawn to pray to my hollow god that something/anything will happen to relieve the isolation of my republic of pain. All I seek is some other channel where my ghosts can rest in peace and I can get some sleep.

Zombie King

 it calls for an extra dose

on those pale mornings

when my remnant dreams

still cling as shrouds

to another me

in some other world

and the cold grey sun

s – e – e – p – s

little shards of heaven

to prick my sleepless eyes

 

I’m as tired as an old joke

told in a funeral parlour

I feel like a dirty burlap sack

full of ossuary bones

I’m the prolapsed organ

they dare not resuscitate

and quite symptomatic

of a broader demographic

of disenchanted and careless

mercenary vagabonds

 

I could be zombie king

if I so desired

complete with

chocolate toolbox

the amnesia haze

and four flat tires

so give me the reds

give me the blues

give me the yellows

and the white ones too

patch me to that big linear zero

and fill my cranium with soup

we’ll have no thought here

no cognitive assemblage

is necessary

I sense the world

through my arsehole

and its diarrhoea burn

 

I’ve left no imprint 

on the world of men

I’m a trail of breadcrumbs

a chalk mark on the pavement

one good rain

could wash me away

 

I had expectations

slender ones

faint and penny-plain

tuppence worth, please

I'm counting costs

for my rainy days

I might never work again

my mechanism is worn

with repetitious strain

and I stand here waiting

for a bus in the sodding rain

while the blunt edge of depression

carves me slowly once again

 

the wind tugs at memory

in indistinct murmurs

of the wilder country

of forbidden places

and ancient curses

I learned what it feels like

to become a beast

my face is fluid now

it can take many forms

angels and demons

dance across my surfaces

twinkling like children

in orphanage rags 

Dark Altars

 

 all my life they spat on me    because I dragged the low end    I got used to     fighting for what’s mine    blood of my blood and bone of my bone    I believed in an eye for an eye    I’d gouge away with bloody thumbs    even if it rendered the whole world blind   

everyone is born with love in them    you have to be taught how to hate    each blow that landed was an education    they taught me and I learned it well    I wanted my pound of flesh on the bone    I’d dig my grave right next to yours    to serve the dictates of my primitive heart

the road to hell is paved    with the tenderest intentions    and even monsters  strike loving bargains    which servile souls    guard most jealously     because there are slaves      who kneel at dark altars    they revere their tyrants    and venerate their oppressors    they are only too eager    to wear their master’s collar    because the gods that we ourselves create    are ours to serve forever

 back in the bygone    I got my jollies    pursuing cheap thrills    with drink, drugs and sex    I feasted with the beast    in the house of inequities    I never ever figured    I’d get a gut full of the beast     or that I’d turn punk    and tear loose like a mad dog    

monsters in uniform    are hot on my trail    they can smell me    it’s the rotten blood     that’s stained me deep    I shall get no rest now     the night belongs to killers     and killers never sleep   

we fear the minions     of the bloody beast    as we fear the beast himself    and so we learned     to live as beasts     and follow beastly rules     for we were meant to serve    and are fit for purpose     because we adore the beast    while we despise ourselves