Inca

don’t tell me

how bad it is

I already know

it’s suicide season

and I’m all out of bullets

but geared up for excess

bicarbonate of coca

the ancient inca curse

smother me with candy kisses

take this poor boy home

it’s the last big deal

coughing up rocks

and surfing on air

but it’s all good

at twice the price

they’re shanking junkies

down in the park

bloody lubricant

for a vicious mechanism

those black market forces

can be so exacting

but my hands are clean

I’m just a punter

looking for fun

.

Poppies

all the pretty soldiers

got their death heads on

it’s a morbid culture

where we sanctify sacrifice

but sponsor its betrayal

we murdered the enemy

we were only following orders

not that much has changed

it’s a different religion

but the same old excuses

we gather poppies in peacetime

to decorate the graves

of those whose lives we’ve stolen

but no-one can explain to us

just why they had to die

Swill

there is a stick
in my swill
stirring up the shit
that colours me sick

my wiring is damp
and keeps shorting out
with a cognitive stutter
and laxative slump

a tsunami of sewage
is drawing me under
with the sickly momentum
of a deep overdose

I’ve dipped my fingers
into that maelstrom
and smeared that shit
on my winding sheets
.

The End Of The World (Part Three)

Carlos and me

were getting high

and talking about

the end of the world

he was heading for the beach

presumably to swim away

I planned on getting drunk

and staying that way

until it all burned down

I had just thrown my funeral

while I still had the time

but nobody showed up

I guess they had their own

funerals in mind

there was a lot of it about

the world was duly penitent

but it was a little overdue

we tried to make our peace with that

but there was no peace to be found

.

The Prodigal Son

you should never have returned

there is nothing for you here

this is a land of ghosts

where people come

to bury their dreams

under layers of denial

and silent despair

.

Biblioclast

I was in the building

when the auditors arrived

year zero

lights out

advanced decay

the news was grim

no-one survived

all reader enquiries

were stuffed into body bags

and buried in the basement

with the unclassified documents

I swabbed the whole apparatus

with anti-static juice

but the questions

just kept rolling in

they were arriving

on the October timetable

though this was early June

I tried to make up the distance

before my arrest

closed me down

then they decided

that to save the library

they had to burn all the books

it smelled of hopelessness

and it smelled of betrayal

it smelled of Auschwitz

and it smelled of fear

.

Animus

there may have been

some reason

for my wild elation

I think I had forgotten

to take my medication

I simply don’t remember

I try not to forget

but if there’s method

to my mania

I haven’t found it yet

and I was high

so very high

on the night we met

you made it easy for me

to cross the killing floor

you told me with some certainty

that we had met before

we coupled in a frenzy

we had a physical rapport

and shared the kind of passion

that left me wanting more

but your words were less than kind

and cut me to the core

you said you’d had enough of me

and showed me to the door

.

Sauce

poor boy is on the sauce again

but he shall fear no evil

coz he’s the coolest pilgrim

who ever took this ride

he rarely does the verbal shit

but when he sometimes does

it floats as sweet and delicate

as manna from above

he never has a point to make

and nothing to defend

poor boy doesn’t give a shit

he’s everybody’s friend

.

World On Fire

we set the fire

and shall harvest the ashes

out in the yard

they are flogging dead horses

swearing death oaths

and burying hope

they bury it deep

and stamp the dirt down

there’s scant hope of resurrection

into a world of carbon

further down the road

where the sun don’t shine no more

the names of our children

are scratched on stones

and the ghost machines are grinding out

obituaries no one shall ever read

.

Shoved

in the bitter end

she simply shot on through

with the benefit of hindsight

it was the obvious move

her life was a burning building

she had nowhere left to turn

the papers said she jumped

but I say she was shoved

.

The Great Worm

I’ve been cutting about
with the sharpest metaphoricals
and audaciously deployed similes
which drip from my tongue
as cool as porcelain
and clear as glass
I’m unfettered by traditional gravity
some think I’ve caught religion
but that’s the death of imagination
and the refuge of villains and fools
I shall not be seeking absolution
the great worm does not absolve
it renders men to meat
and then picks their bones clean
regardless of their beliefs
I’m already consigned to the power
that wields the bloody fangs
that tear the life from flesh
but until that final butchery
I’ll live as a free man
standing on my own two feet
and not a fucking slave
on my bended knees
.

Islands

I was never sectioned. I went in voluntarily. Still, getting in was easier than getting out again. I had to play a game of incremental improvement - softly, softly catchee monkey. I spent a month in that shithole, pretending to get well. I never felt so isolated in my life. The wards of that crumbling old hospital were named after Scottish islands. That seemed appropriate, because the people in there were islands too.