Liars

you taught my tongue some tricks
I can weave real eloquently now
with a winning smile
and a twinkle in my eye
I've even fooled myself at times
we all want to believe in something
we all want to trust in someone
but I don't even trust myself
I'm dirty as the thirty pieces of silver
that secured my ounce of solid soul
and as deep as the phony veneer
that fails to conceal my corruption
so, ask me no questions
and ditch the disguise
save us both the effort
of more graceless contortions
as we make our goodbyes
.

My Friend

they persecuted him

because they could

because it’s easy

to close your mind

to the different

and he was different

he was a peacock

amidst vultures

he was a libertine

in the company of slaves

he was a shooting star

who burned too brightly

and he was my friend

when there was no other

.

flightless

I met a man

who was fighting 

his shadow

he was dull inside

and dead as a dodo

he spoke in tongues
strangely familiar
first languid
and then rabid
in a paralytic dialect
of mumbles and grunts
cunt was a drooler
a mewling loser
dredging an ocean
of heartfelt regrets
and bitter recriminations
he'd traded his allocated
ounce of solid soul
for the draught of oblivion
and I’ve seen his face before
in some distant mirror
but I don't know him
he's nothing to me
so show that bum the door

before he spills another drink

and then cries out for more

Loner

she had those absinthe eyes

set in a fragile waifish dial

she possessed a laddish wit

that always made me smile

we were never really lovers

but we fucked once in a while

.

no, we were drinking buddies

and were seldom sober

but we were never truly close

because at heart she was a loner

and I wonder what became of her

when our escapades were over

.

The Nice

I had long since

abandoned hope

of ever forging

a masonic

connection

but had made

quiet inroads

amidst the nice

I could never

be one though

dull as ditch water

the nice

even the messianic

shun the nice

besides

my mere presence

fucks with their feng shui

.

Menagerie

there was no miscalculating

it was the season of ill will

those fractious lovebirds

were broadcasting citywide

they were at the ding dong

with the usual diatribe

concerning love and validation

guerrilla tactics were involved

I had to shield my mind

from their carnal dredgings

and squirmed with embarrassment

when they mentioned my name

.

West End

the skag palaces
and liquor dungeons
of my youth
are now gastro pubs
and organic eateries
but the streets
are the same
there's a score
on every corner
flesh or drug
just name your tune
and some cunt
will dance to it
.

The Final Bulletin

Glad Rag
and
Mouse Trap
were here for a while
they just came by
to ring my bell
and drink my tea
they had cloth and candles
and were all kitted out
for the final big bulletin
the news was sadly
postponed indefinitely
nothing will happen
during prime time
no-one will stem
the systematic
appropriation
of the factual
all elected officers
will report to mommy
there’s been a spill
much milk was shed
some were crying
others laughed
a mixed bag
of metaphors
escaped into the crowd
Glad Rag and Mouse Trap
were first among them
.

Shades

Rab was wearing his cheap sun glasses. He was always wearing dark glasses. He claimed he was photo-sensitive, but he just didn't want any cunt tae see his eyes. They say the eyes are the windows of the soul and that cunt had no soul; but he had Mo. I'd have given my own soul tae be with Mo.

"Nah Johnny, Maureen will do her dinger if I'm late hame again."

"One wee drink cannae dae nae hairm Rab. We'll just be a minute."

"Aye, and if she finds oot ah was drinkin..."

"Who's goany tell her like? C'mon, one wee drink."

Rab relented, I knew he would. Nae alky can refuse free drink. Rab had it bad. The doctor had warned him that he was drinking himself into an early grave, but that wasn't deterrent enough for Rab. You'd think the thought of losing Mo might inspire him, but he took her for granted. He always had. She had carried him for twenty years or more. The cunt had never done a day’s work in his life. Rab just lurched fae one crisis tae the next while Mo skivvied for him; picking up his broken pieces and tending his wounds.

Maureen was a beautiful woman and I had loved her from afar since Rab first introduced us two decades before. We were best mates Rab and I. We still were, as far as Rab was concerned, but I watched him drain the soul from that woman and I wished him gone.

"Another pint Rab?" - we'd had four already.

"No thanks Johnny - ah've got tae head hame. Maureen will be worried..."

"One mair for the road then - one last pint - then we go."

"Maureen will freak if she smells the drink oan me."

"Get some mints oan the way home - and for fucks sake dinnae tell her I was buying - I'll never hear the end of it."

"I widnae grass ye up Johnny - we're mates, right?"

"Aye, we're mates Rab."

.

Drenched

I lost another lover

from standing in the rain

I leached the colour out of her

and flushed her down the drain

I saw the whole thing coming

I recognised the signs

she had some changes planned

when I read between the lines

there's no explaining some things

and there are some things best unspoken

like the crooked words that justify

the promises I've broken

Universal

Imagine a universe too big for gods. Where the angels are heretic and the saints are junkie hookers. You're getting the size of it. Bigger than a breadbox, but perhaps smaller than the human soul. Something large, but finite.

What were you betting on? Reincarnation? Resurrection? Did you opt for those desolate mansions and the companionship of ghosts? Perhaps you sought comfort from the cool indifference of the merciless universal? Where will we be when our benefactor finally calls our number? Would we even understand the answer - if we were ever shown?

.

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
.