Your Favourite Lover

Three’s crowd darlin’
Did no one tell you that?
Three caused more murders
Than greed ever done
And baby that’s a fact
There’s a man odour in here
Like the smell of dying dogs
You better burn those sheets
Cause they’ve been spoiled for me
There’s only room for one man here
So who’s it going to be?
.
When I first met you baby
Five or six years ago
You didn’t have a clue
But my how you have grown
Have you gone all femme fatale?
Is this a game you’ve been playing?
Well the fun and games end now
Don’t waste your time explaining
You better make your mind up
Or I’ll have to set you free
Who’s your favourite lover
Is it him or is it me?
.

Bagman

I always had to drag the low end. 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.

.

4:15 am

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
.

Tread Softly

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.

.

Sacrificial

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

.

Shadow Dogs

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
.

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.

.

Jesus Is Waiting

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
.

Yer Mojo

you either got it
or you don’t got it
some folk
don’t have the ears
for it
some folk
don’t have the eyes
they’d be missing out
on something special
for most of the time
so let there be no doubt
as to the bottom line
if you can’t make it
then simply take it
just as long
as you don’t fake it
coz that would be a crime
.

Snowflakes

the calendar of memories
measures out the hours
in balmy summer afternoons
and sudden April showers
and I remember her
as snowflakes lost in play
I was a damp November morn
and she was Christmas day

Beauty On The Bus

blow me a kiss
single return
returning home
a hard earned day
of daydreams
and negotiated silence

inner peace
for pieces of sky

the heavens shout out
with special relevance
blue and vast cavernous
swallows me whole
and then spits me out

this is not enough
but it’s all too much
coughing up
spewing out
piss and puke
where beauty stops
so does the bus
stop
stop
stop
.

Hedonist

here’s to those louche lounge lizards
and licentious feline derelicts
who propped me up to dip my pockets
and barfly angels who furnished me with flesh
but were blameless in my corruption
nothing appealed to me like everything
and having everything I wanted more
because every pleasure seems attainable
when you’re a drunkard and a whore
.