Casey Jones

down between
the railway tracks
amidst the newts
and the sticklebacks
dead monuments
to industrial might
gather shadows
deep as night

in the kingdom
of heavy rust
where empires bloomed
then turned to dust
the bindlestiffs
and feral types
come out to play
in the dread of night
only to fade away once more
before the breaking day

there are ghosts
they boast
in these old yards
in shallow graves
that no-one guards
where evil deeds
lie undiscovered
beneath the weeds
where their cries
were smothered
.

Monkey Business

some slipped away    incognito   others turned sour    their cream had curdled    I don't give a fuck     I had a good time     I got my own     monkey business     and a boneyard     for my bygones     what's buried there       is buried real deep      and locked up tight         so it don't bring me down       I live in the now       it's the only space left me       and I like to make hay       while the sun still shines

Solitary

the threat of silence eternal
will not drive me
into the arms
of honorific whores
who perform gratis
acts of quiet desperation
in the hopeless quest
for something more substantial
.
I'm a solitary instrument
who keeps his own council
I'll never impart my sorry tale
to another living soul
I buried my burdens deep
but I watch them all the while
for there are promises I keep
and promises I deny
.

Daisies

them trombone dildos     are masked and ready    they got the swing   that don’t mean a thing    they’re just grateful    for the company      in their jism schism     there’s rhythm    in their method      and they play real music      for the nectar sockets    in a dance best performed      on the horizontal plane     or bent over double      bareback for your trouble    in unholy carnal daisy chains    necessities children     have no need of names    just a stranger’s hand    with a loving touch    and they don’t mind paying   but not too much           

Hangover

we’re running low on drinks

this party’s hit the doldrums

and as the morning sinks

we godless frozen forms

pitch headlong into ashtrays

and empty bottles counted

then recycled in the telling

like the evidence that’s mounted

in the stories you’ve been selling

so paint me black in tales of woe

and fabricate the reason

to justify the fatal blow

and your final act of treason

.

Mandy

copped me the full dose
I licked the wrapper too
I ramped up the mandy
downed it with cheap wine
that shit’s complicated
but I don’t seem to mind
it fit me real snug
just like I knew it would
it was Christmas in July
did everything it should
it may be forbidden
but sometimes
it does some good
.

Insatiable

I shed a score

every time

I went

to the well

soon I was skint

and the well was dry

those are the dues

owed the

golden monkey

when your appetites

outstrip your means

and gluttony

obscures your reason

.

The Final Link

I seen you in your big boots
threshing out your grapes of wrath
you only harvested bitter fruit
from your black vineyards
but you could never touch me
or the dope that I had stashed
even then I knew too much
to take your shit to heart
.
they say the sins of the father
are meted out to his sons
I guess you merely did
what own father had done
but that shit stops right here
I won’t let it go on
if I’m a link in that bloody chain
I’ll be the final one

Judas Kiss

it’s not the stranger danger
but the et tu bruti
you have to beware of
there’s no more bitter repast
than the judas kiss
served from
treacherous lips
straight to the heart
and she took a piece
mucky little tart
we were only casual
I shouldn’t really care
but she took a bite
and she left her mark
somewhere between the folds
of my deepest  dark
.

Sleepless

nowhere to rest my head

no cradle for my dreams

I pace the lonely hours

just bursting at the seams

I measure dusk ‘til dawn

and see them back again

I’ve little need for sleep

I have a faulty brain

in the cold grey dawn

I feel as thin as rain

it’s mornings such as these

could drive a soul insane

.

Kingpin

kudos to the big beasts

and the fabled ocean riders

ixnay on the dharma jockeys

and the children of the sun

I am stand alone dysphoric

quartered by the meat racks

sliced down to the bone

I shall complain most bitterly

to my trusty dictaphone

.

see that bastard smile?

that’s the local kingpin

and he’ll turn away no more

I’ve got the essential matrix

that the cunt is looking for

he’s a fucking lean machine

and an arsehole to be sure

but he’s the only gig in town

there’s nowhere else to score

.

Coffee

it calls for extra coffee
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 home
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