shrouds

 tell me brothers and sisters       how well do you sleep?     do you lie down gently with acquiescent lambs?      or run in terror with ravenous wolves?      do you follow secret paths known only to your heart?      are the thoughts that await you there a burden to your mind?     because we abhor what we fear      and we fear what we don’t understand       that’s ok    just don’t think about it       avert your gaze     hide your eyes     bury your fear somewhere deep inside     where it will learn your secrets as it festers in the dark     the lord of death knows each of us by name    he nestles in our sheets as we sleep      and we walk with the ghosts and spectres he sends to haunt our dreams       

we’ve been to some dark places      that’s the topography of life    this world is made of fear and death    there is love of course    but that’s just on the surface     deep down we are motivated by fear     and our greatest fear is death     but if we give it no name      perhaps it will go away       like a bad dream    or a spell of rain     it’s three in the morning     we’re wrestling angels and losing again     but we’ll keep up the pretence as long as we can      there are burdens enough with the coming of day       we’ll shake off our shrouds as we roll out of bed      in the land of the living there’s just no room for the dead

archaeology

poor boy was a loner    poor boy was a shadow     he’d been banished from the tribe       because he had this one weird gimmick     you could say it was his calling      poor boy used to dig up ghosts       he found ghosts everywhere      and people didn’t like it       the ghosts didn’t like it        poor boy didn’t like it either        but he was obsessed with his ghosts        he was so obsessed he became a ghost too      and gradually faded away       soon to be forgotten     but I’ve seen him  by the canal      and on the viaduct too         in the company of ghosts    in the melancholic gloom

 

bipolar distemper

 the blunt edge of depression     rolls across my portion of the sky     it’s gonna rain again    nobody can gauge when or why    somebody help me     I’m coming undone       we all have secret sorrows       I’ve had enough of mine     I woke up into a nightmare      I might never sleep again    some have wounds that do not show       but they bleed     they bleed from the soul    I’m not helpless – I’m hopeless      they call it suicidal ideation    my life is a burning building     I may have to jump     it’s burn or dive      there is a terror beyond falling    the choices here are stark   

bipolar distemper is a side effect of living      and living is a disease with one cure     and one cure alone    I won’t cry in public     I won’t rend my clothes       I’ll weep on the inside    I’ll weep from my soul      there’s no comfort to be had    no magic pills    my soul carries more scars    than living tissue   this is not sadness       sadness will pass like the common cold     this is cancer     a cancer of the soul      I feel so ashamed        to carry this burden     I’ve done something wrong     something so huge   I can’t even comprehend it      the devil has hold of my soul     and from where I sit now       he’s welcome to it

 

lies

 I like to drink    but I only with my friends     I don’t care to drink with strangers     I have to factor in my concentration     got to keep my story straight        my lies always carried more weight than my truths   after all, lies are the common currency    truths are rare as diamonds     I save the truths for the people I trust     what do you say to that?    I don’t know what to say myself      it’s not my place to say     but what do you think?     coz I don’t know what to think    I never knew what to think  I always moved in the wrong direction    is that symptomatic of a poor education?    I could blame my past       but with little conviction       I’ve always been the victim of my own machinations    I couldn’t care less now     but I suffered then     nobody suffers like the poor      and I was impoverished in spirit      I could tell some stories      we all could tell some stories     life is anecdotal and fifty percent deception     but that’s to be expected     how could we live with ourselves if it weren’t for our lies?

the devil

they say it takes one to know one    that the devil knows his friends    and I’m not ready to repent    I’m not through sinning yet       I don’t care what people say    I don’t care what they think     if I pour the poison    I can bear the shame     I’ve often been the villain     in other people’s schemes     but now I set the agenda      we’ll see where that leads      I might play the devil      I might just steal his clothes     I’d rather play the devil    than someone you don’t know     it can take a little evil    to get your business fixed     but they say the devil is worldly wise     and he knows all the tricks

orphans

it’s been a long time now    but some things never change    you took the road with me     with expectations that would tear us apart     you knew how to live       I knew how to dance     I promised you much      but I think I lied   I don’t believe     and I will not serve       I’m not afraid of being alone        I’m not scared of making mistakes       I crawled on broken glass     to get where I am now       my mistakes are portals     to new discoveries     I found myself   all on my own     I drowned in the ocean     you placed between us      I bled for your lies when you found another       but I wished luck in your new adventure    god grant you some peace    on your journey home      

electrical therapy

I need a bigger brain     none of this shit makes sense      I want a long lie down     in the cool room    on virgin sheets       over by the window      where I can see the street       because something is going wrong somewhere      and I’m afraid it’s local      there’s more misery in this neighbourhood than can be quantified      we’re alive and that’s the problem     and it’s quite a problem      but it’s nobody’s fault      

the living have troubles     that span all dimensions      electrical therapy might see them sorted     a zap to the brainpan      could do some good     it’s said to work wonders      for all mental maladies     god knows it changed my motivations      they taught me to think straight     with little blasts of lightning    they lit the path      to some near nirvana       and saw me whole    but not quite holy     am I the bad guy now?      how does that work?

I cut a solitary figure in this situation      but I don’t need a rainy day woman     to come and make my bed      clean my clothes      or serve my daily bread       don’t get me wrong      I don’t want to be alone     I just need a friend      to talk to when I’m stoned      I’m loaded with electrical potential     some find that strange     they might think I’m mental      but I know who I am    and that’s pivotal to my way of thinking

 

mercy

I can’t complain     though I’ve seen better days     today was stillborn      dead on arrival     dismal as an infant’s funeral     bleak as a winter in hell     I don’t seem to mind    there’s no evil portioned to me    I haven’t witnessed before     I have always believed      that whatever comes my way      for good or ill      I must have earned it    so I will own it   quietly   en sotto voce      I don’t believe in drama     or the daily toil and trouble   I believe in something spiritual      manna spilled from heaven    where I trust I’m not forgotten     because I still hope for mercy      in the kingdom yet to come          

bed

 I will not take to my bed       no, I will not take to my bed       I’m sick and tired      and I need to sleep    but I will not take to my bed            the day is dark and sorrowful       and my heart has turned to lead          I could lie in for a day or two     but I will not take to my bed             the world has me by the throat      I wish that I was dead     I’m ready to jack it all in     but I will not take to my bed      

 

bittersweet

in the place where you are     rooted as you are    habitually static   do you feel incomplete?     is there hunger still in you?      have you come very far, in the course of a lifetime?      was the journey worthwhile, the way you remember?     could you do with a bit more emotional warfare?    are you finally done with me, now I’ve surrendered?

to tell you the truth     I saw it coming      felt trouble gnawing   deep in my entrails      maybe that feeling tainted my actions     and I drew trouble to me      with dread apprehension     battling shadows    like a child in the dark       was I sowing the seeds of intent?      did I walk a crooked path?       all prophesy is self fulfilling      it’s a law of nature     even I realise that

least said, soonest mended       I’ll reserve my judgements     for the early hours        to reflect in a vacuum     the role that I played in this latest debacle     I hold a fascination for the patterns of disgrace      and we were both disgraced in this episode     so I’ll bury you now      but I’ll mark the grave for later      I’m bound to return to the scene of the crime

we all have needs     some more than others    we do what we have to     in order to survive with egos intact     people get hurt     and get hurt in the hurting     some wounds heal       some wounds fester      some wounds are licked     because we like the flavour      there are bittersweet confections     that linger in the heart

baby buddha

I’m being ground down by the tyrant within     my mind is an elegant trap     a fractal of coloured lenses painting my emotions  various shades of sodom      I can’t go on living like this       but  what else do I know?        I have to move   and make my way by moving      somehow arriving and departing     constantly shifting       until I find some direction     that feels like I’m heading somewhere      I ought get into this      right into the heart of this      you kindled a flame in me       now watch me burn       art colours life     so paint me red     paint me gold       paint me anything at all     I’m losing my distinctions        it all blurs into nothing        and nothing becomes me like nothing at all 

alligator tears

when I was young       in my summer season     I tarried with junkies, thieves, and other lepers       I took the drugs they brought me       and used the words they taught me       those words are old now       teach me some new ones     or leave now in silence       don’t stain my solitude       with worthless gestures         there’s not much time left      and I’m busy writing eulogies

my best years are past     but I wouldn’t buy them back       the past is a curse     that still beats inside me      I’m not complaining       merely observing      if you catch me weeping        don’t be concerned      now and again     I’m struck with nostalgia     it’s a vicarious vice     for people my age     my erstwhile companions have all crossed over     their ghosts tell stories that play on my mind