Dead Man

I write like a dead man
with knotted fingers
and a feeble grasp
I cast no reflection
into the pool of life
here on the outside
the far outside
there are no windows
waiting
no welcome in the hearth
and there are no songs
for dead men
to wrap their tongues around
.

Pinocchio

“no-one fucks like that”  she said  “unless they mean it”

I had given it full expression    and I had meant it    in the heat of the moment    with the fire in my loins    but   hers was not my circus    I treasured my freedom    and would not relinquish it   just because we were good in bed

“what’s wrong?”    “don’t you fancy me?”   her eyes searched mine      I averted  shamefaced   my silence was evidence    of my guilt    I didn’t know what to say    the feeling just wasn’t there    well   that was my story   and I stuck to it

that was the story I told    and told over again    until I forgot it was a lie    it was a story of innocence    it was far from the truth    I have two glass eyes     and a silver tongue     I can lie with the best    and often do   but most of the time   I only deceive myself     with my selfish acts of betrayal

Dragons

for my head
Shug said
and gave me a wrap
for the pain
all fingers and foil
trembling slightly
I inhaled
the acrid smoke
burning lettuce
slipped easy
into grateful lungs
I was waiting
waiting on a wave
a cool dark one
to sweep me up
and lay me to rest
I smoked myself sick
but even that felt good
in fact everything
felt good
too good
and I saw that
a man could lose himself
chasing dragons
.

Only Dreaming

years later
long after
you died
I dreamed
of you

in the dream
you were sixteen
and altogether
beautiful

death had yet
to touch
your brow

your life force
shone out
strong
and proud

and I woke up
wondering
if I was only dreaming
or was it really you
.

No Angels

there are no angels
there are no demons
there are only survivors
the world stones its saints
as it buries the innocent
and in the end no-one
remembers their names
.

Forbidden

Take a picture of this
We were holding hands
We had heavy heads
And happy hearts
We were stoned
In the regular variety
We rushed to the shore
The sea lapped at our feet
The wind tugged at our hair
We were immortal then
We were cleansed
Spotless as in infancy
The world had yet to find us
To bind us to convention
And condemn us - all three
For the  love we shared
.

Sixteen

there were days
when we lived
as if we’d never die
days we were
perfected
among the race
because our love
was the first love
to ever reach
those heights
but we were sixteen
and did not know
that time was a thief
who’d steal our love
and leave us naught
but our memories
.

Missionaries

.

It was a glorious summer’s day and I was pleasantly stoned. Two young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints knocked on my door. I must have been pretty high because instead of palming them off with the usual spiel about my being an atheist I let them in. It was a hot day so I served them some cold lemonade.

We discussed the bible and Jesus Christ. They told me about Joseph Smith and Brigham Young and they gave me a Book of Mormon, so I thanked them. We even prayed together – though I did so with a certain amount of mirth. I talked and talked about Christ, Buddha and Krishna – mostly I just talked until they could not wait to leave. They informed me that they must be making tracks. I looked doubtful and said:

“Are you sure?”

“Yes” they replied

“That acid I gave you ought to be kicking in about now.” I informed them.

The blood drained from their faces as they reeled from the shock. They unravelled from smug satisfaction into deep consternation before my eyes. I laughed and shook my head.

“I’m only kidding. I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”

They seemed unconvinced and left rapidly - still in a state of shock. To this day No Mormon missionaries have knocked on my door since. I see them coming down the street going door to door, but they skip past mine. I think I’m on that database of theirs as doomed – an instrument of Satan.

.

Little White Lies

once I had two lovers
I know what you’re thinking
you’re either thinking lucky dog
or filthy rat
I think the latter is more accurate
I was definitely some form of rodent
nervous and fearful of discovery
scurrying through the dark
from house to house
and back again
.
both girls new about the other
but it was still an emotional minefield
so I used to lie to them
little white lies to smooth the way
little white lies to spare their feelings
I’d make up stories about my day
never mentioning one to the other
I’d tell stories about where I’d been
and what I’d done there
.
I had deceit down to a fine art
it got easier to lie as time went by
until it was second nature to me
that’s the thing about lies
they breed like rabbits
one lie begat another
until I was swimming in an ocean
of those little white lies
.
when I took all those lies
those little white lies
and put them all together
they made up one big black lie
my whole life had become a lie
it was hard to keep up with them
and they were discovered
one by one
in the end I lost both girls
because I was such a liar
and liars seldom prosper
.

Bobby

Bobby and Susan were best buddies
It was purely platonic, so they said
In fact they were so close
That when I asked Susan home
Bobby came as well
I could tell he was crazy for her
His eyes never left her
As we sat drinking coffee
In my living room


I thought I had struck out
Things being the way they were
With Bobby there and all that
I stood up and stretched
Said it was time for my bed
Susan stood up and took my hand
As we both left the room
I clocked Bobby’s dial
There was a look on his face
I’ll never forget
.

Rose Of Jericho

I pushed her buttons
And she opened up like a flower
What’s that the image of?
An unfolding fleshy flower
The sacred rose of Jericho
Tattooed to my ribs
The five wounds of Christ
The seven veils of wisdom
The smiling secret cyphers
Signalled between a lover’s lips
Behind closed doors
Between the sheets
Beneath the heaving flesh
Sliding – rolling on the mattress
Pressed against her bosom
Jammed between her thighs
Inside her velvet prison
My walls come tumbling down
But just in the moment
.

Wake

Take him and lay him out on the tall trestles
Put him in the shop window
For passing trade to see
Maybe some use can yet be made of him
I won’t dirty my hands with the details
Some words cannot be retracted
I’ll just say that he was here and now is gone
On twenty one occasions I asked for his forgiveness
He just shrugged his shoulders and slouched away
“No”, was all he said
Come on girl – no use moping after him
His journey is over now
But ours is just begun.
.

Blackened

When did we learn how to hate?
Was it incremental
Like the constant drip, drip, drip
Of a leaking faucet
Delivering the droplets of hurt and humiliation
That gradually painted our hearts black?
Was it as sudden as the illumination of betrayal
The spike of ice cold acid in the veins
The shock of the inevitable,
The realisation of all our fears?
Or was it always there
Carried within
Before it ever had a name?
.

Sunny Side Up

it’s been a thin time all round
inky black and such
hard graft for the crooked
a long stretch for the touched
the good people of the parish
shell a little corn into my cup
but it’s one of those deals
where you fight for your meals
it’s not all sunny side up
.