Captain Chaos

the mysteries of life     seem to defy explanation       but I got the prickly answers     festering in my ball sack     it don’t take a psychic    to chart my approach     an electric horizon     all fire and thunder     crackles and spurts     with them golden bullets        the fruit of my loins   

murder and mayhem     lurk in my shadow       so open the door    just let me in        I won’t be no bother      or give me your cloak     this is magical weather     give me your cloak       and I’ll cast you a spell

this poor boy     gets all ego inflated     and is counter-indicated      for most applications      I’m good for a laugh      but don’t ask for directions      my bipolar co-ordinates      mean I’m lost and  found      in repetitive cycles    

however    due to the unique way        my head is located        I get to harmonise        with those dissonant values       that tie other people      in  gordian knots        this heavy soul      walks on many waters        a friend to all men      but master of none

History

don’t mind

this old dog

I have rubber teeth

and my bark is worse

than my bite

but

I got some paper

in my hand

says I can take

your day

I’ve been

inoculated

against your truth

with knowledge

and my crew

has cast lots

for your shit

so strip down

dummy up

and listen

your empires

of deception

will be washed

away in time

and your emperors

will stand naked

in the dock

of history

to answer

for their crimes

*image: Akhenaten the ‘Heretic Pharaoh’.

.

The Big Bang

it all began with the big bang

and that sudden realization

of the loose arrangement

that binds the race

in instinctual fear

so you’d best cast me out

I have a dreamer’s disease

I’m a philistine and a cannibal

my light comes from within

I got a cut rate education

stolen between knotted sheets

and from the borrowed books

I neglected to return

I was an idiot savant

a music hall visionary

in the insane old charade

called show business

the charm

of that former life

has long since worn thin

the antidote to glamour

is working for a living

everything is hard work

slacking is the hardest of all

mind numbing boredom

scoops your insides out

fills the spaces with stardust

Mumble Beads

you bought a bag

of mumble beads

presumably

to ease the burden

of an empty existence

but the placebo of prayer

is like an opium dream

you can’t hold on

to what isn’t there

the momentary relief

gleaned from holy balsam

is the redemption

of stolen goods

in exchange

for empty promises

and vicarious atonements

are hollow gestures

for an audience of none

for no-one else sees

the trip you are on

.

Death Deifier

I dragged

the low end

until I found

the hard edge

that’s how come

I lived for so long

sure, I’ve had

copious licks

on the sugar stick

since then

but I still know

where the heat

is stashed

and I’ll dig mine

before I dig yours

you’ll see them both

and appreciate

the signified

before I fill yours in

Déjà vu (Revisited)

was it animal waves

or the scent of blood

that baited the trap

that captured us?

we had ringside seats

but were with the gods

ours were edgy vices

those stolen moments

were crimes of passion

but you were seamless

in your auxiliary actions

I figured this was not

your fist time around

but had a queasy déjà vu

that vertigo of the libido

when you regurgitated

the standard disclaimers

and the magic was all gone

your words were so familiar

I could almost sing along

because I recalled the singer

who used to sing that song

Just Desserts

naked as a peach pip

stoned as a cherry

my strawberry tart

wet dream topping

knicker-dropper glory

your raspberry fool

scoffs passion’s

bitter berries

forbidden fruit

baked in a pie

that fleshy pulp

juice sticky fingers

hot love sundae

my just desserts

apple of my eye

Enough

the beasts that till your poisoned soil

carve patterns in your furrowed brow

that signify the burdens borne

in the silence of your tortured nights

and the futility of your empty days

now you sup from a bitter cup

while reciting your litanies of spite

of love’s bloody negotiations

and the terrible price you paid

for such slight return

your sadness tastes like ashes

you have told yourself you’ve had enough.

Scars

there was a moment

when we could

have been friends

then she stared at me

she saw the scars

then they were all

that she could see

those are the

shameful reminders

of the boy I used to be

I have moved on since

my wounds have healed

but the scars remain

for everyone to see

Existential Crisis # 57i

this place

burns me out

with wearisome

repetition

its suburban cliché

weighs heavy

on my doldrums

and I’m drowning

in an ocean

of sundays

I’ve gone native

in the great nocturnal

I’m flying solo

from now on

I better bail out

before I’m found out

I have deviated

from the pattern

of the flock

those dopes

are sheparded

by wolves

they are helpless

and enthralled

their decline

commenced sooner

than anticipated

they had assumed

they’d be given

more time

.

Compact

give me comfort

bring me sustenance

for this is a grey world

and there are hunters

sharpened for murder

hungry for a piece of us

waiting at the door

I’ll trust you

just for the hell of it

you’ll trust me

because you’ve nothing

left to lose

when we first met

I sank to the quick of it

I knew there and then

I must have you

.

The Prince Of Fools

I’d like to fist your face and ram my heat into that gaping maw of yours. I’d soon stifle the spewing of verminous edicts that echo through that empty brain pan of yours. I want to grab each dirty matted syllable by its tail and stuff it back down your throat.

Your banality is a parody of thought. Yours are clown words with big grotesque fuck off feet that trip and stumble into my bleeding ears. Every time you open that repulsive mouth of yours I feel like I’m being held hostage by an amoeba. You drain my strength – you suck me dry like a bath full of leeches.

You gobble up useless information like an omnivorous vacuum cleaner, which is why your head is full of dust and shit. You can’t lay claim to thoughts, because all your thoughts are borrowed and overdue. You have a talent for engineering mountains into molehills and reducing the inspirational into the inconsequential.

I think your knowledge is a burden; it brings you no joy. Everything you’ve learned has only fuelled your delusions. You are the Napoleon of conceit, an emperor of denial. Every situation calls for anxious new equations – can you make a bid for the centre of attention? Will you play it safe on the central reservation? You get your jollies brow beating your victims with the ten cent words you borrowed from Readers Digest. You’re a passive – aggressive pick pocket with a treasure chest of petty triumphs.

You celebrate your skirmishes in the isolation of your fantastic dramatic reconstructions; you told them good – they sure know now. You are one in a million, a prince among paupers. You’ve turned egotism into an art form and all your vices into virtues. But your mind is crowded with recollections of cringing servile retreats in the face of forces cognizant of your minor league status.

Your house of cards folds its hand when your bluff is called. Those moments of embarrassment last an eternity in the dark hallways of your memory. It’s then, in the concealment of your empty bed, that the snagging doubts tug at your heels. They drag you down into the depths of the sullen certainty that you are merely a tin god, and a hollow man. You know then that you are not a winner – because you never ever ran.