purple hearts

you’ve been busted before                 we know where you sleep      we have this place surrounded         your delusional thinking                will not go unpunished             you are not immaculate               you are just criminal          and you have no friends                so you shall face the scaffold  totally alone

some say that genius         is an affliction of the mind       that torment inspires beauty       and the hand of god  has blessed the afflicted         but they’re yanking your chain              madness is a lesion of the heart              a slashing torment of the soul       but you did this to yourself          and no-one hands out purple hearts for self-inflicted wounds

Gethsemane

 are you one of the beautiful people?   

were you provided the opportunity to shine?

you need a friend who can hold you up           

I know where you can cut a new deal

but you gotta get righteous

buy the t-shirt

and tread the path

that leads to glory

you’ll find new friends

among old enemies

making deals

in public lavatories

coz loaves and fishes

don’t mean shit

when your pockets are empty

and you’re dying for a fix

Abercorn Beach

 did you get some peace   when peace was offered?   or is your hatred still a sacred cow?    did you stick to your guns   is that a virtue?   yes   I know the words    but I won’t sing along

anger is stupid   and stupidity kills    so dig me a hole   right next to yours    I’m no genius    neither are you   but I can see   that victory is impossible   in a war between friends

there is only losing    in your philosophy    the final blow   will leave us both morbid   and stranded on the shingles    with memories of drowning boys    who were taken away early   by the ebb of a turning tide   

astrology

 bleeding out between the stars

it was written in my sky

that I was born of the night

to be bioelectrically crazy

and idle to the bone

but it’s not such a raw deal

how can I complain?

when midnight serpents shine

in gardens misty wet with rain   

and even the constellations

are pounding out my name

existential

 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 in   but I'll bail out before I’m found out        for I have deviated from the norm     so blanket me     with tar and feathers      lead me to the killing floor   I’ve had enough of the social system        my heart is heavy and my knees are sore

paint me blue

 I fled my perch        on a promise            dived head first     into your blues        your terrible ocean blues              you were snake oil and gold dust                        half pretence           half mystery             I fell for you  like the sucker         you took me for                        ‘call me sometime’             that’s what you said           but I lost your number                     along with my head                        you seemed  bona fide                  your credentials were good       but I wasn’t committed      just passing through           what was the catalyst            for my change of heart?        I don’t remember        was it something you said?      the lies that you told?               the tears that you shed?                        you painted me blue                      I painted you red                   I can’t reach you now            why would I want to?        your facts were all fictions     I’ve been once bitten                     and that left its mark

the ministry of filth

 if you look for dirt         you’re bound  to find it          like attracts like      that’s the law  of intent          did you run out of pockets?       have you lifted more than you can chew?        you better give me everything       before I wind up dead       the pigs strip searched my mind         prima facie evidence        suggested I was ripe          there’s something wrong with my brain           it’s a simple mind bender      from way back when          did you see them?              did you see my pornographic hands?             did you get my text?        do you finally understand?       this is the ministry of filth         and you are in command

mister natural

 old acquaintances              can make for strange bed fellows               more like accomplices than lovers             but this is no next time round                  I’m no blast from the past                        I’ve been authenticated                        as 100% organic                        the totally genuine article             issued in nineteen timbuktu                    

I’m not packing remedies             in my duffel bag                        you can’t count on satisfaction        coz I’m just a minor distraction              and strictly pay for view             you got my name and number                        if you ever catch the blues           tho I might not come running               the way you want me to

soot

I’ve got rockets in my pockets        my fingers are black with soot      I have a full load on      and I’m taking a dive      with a head full of feathers      I get so high it’s obscene     when I get my shit together       and I get my shit together     more often than I should

others might turn to god     but I turned to ashes      I tweaked my mind against babylon’s machinery             this is the secret of happiness       disputed through the ages      in a simple benediction         that ancient curse  of the orient       the fabled pipe of peace

weathered

poor boy plays his flute       to a herd of goats     grazing in the dunes       sunny side up      what’s that the symbol of?       the grass is always greener       on my side of the dream         the tapping on my window pane     sets another scene      it’s heavy weather       the sky is grey       the rain pours down       dismal as an infant’s funeral

some days I drag the low end         but it doesn’t matter    it doesn’t bother me        I won’t be writing any suicide notes     on that account        I’m not fixing to die anytime soon       I just began learning how to live        I have  circumstances to accommodate     and those can be a bitch       I can’t complain    but I will anyway

I roll out of bed        a tsunami of shit     sweeps me off my feet      and leaves me gasping on the wakeful shore      these are the heavy latitudes       and the days land hard      dark and oppressive        this is the land of ghosts  and ancient lore       the land of violence and suicidal rage     I have firewater in my veins     and fear in my heart   these last million miles  have worn me thin       one good rain could wash me down the drain       to dissolve like baby aspirin      in a pool of baby tears

I’m wedded now      to this heavy heart       to have and hold     until death we do part   I’m just a dog without a bone      still fighting a war     that ended long ago      a typhoon picked me up and shook my shadow loose      the pieces have fallen back to earth     but my light casts no warmth        and  I’m not the man I pretended to be      back in the day        before the deluge       swept me away

 

heavenless

 there are no wise men      and no magical beings      you are as slick       as this sideshow gets       there will be no epiphany        no sudden revelation         just a gradual unwinding         and stripping away      we'll find no asylum here          no place to rest our heads         we are all of us refugees        from the world on fire         we have no home on high       and no-one waiting there        the troubles that we face         won't be resolved through prayer

judas goat

 

we’re all of us tethered         to the same parked car       gullible imbeciles         overfed and entertained      it was a barrel load        in the bygone         but now it makes my bones ache        and I’ve been running on vapours       these last ten million miles      I’ve seen road kill        with more juice than I got        I’d better buck up my ideas sharpish       or they’ll pension me off to the judas goat       he don’t read no bedtime stories       he renders meat from chumps like me