3 am again
and my mechanism
is stretched to breaking
tore a line from scripture
blessed are the poor in spirit
for they are on their tod
they haunt the early hours
searching for their God
but you know what they say
you’re never really alone
when you have a good book
solace comes in many forms
so I read the testaments
in search of consolation
and have been informed
that Jesus is waiting
but he can’t come
to the phone right now
.
you either got it
or you don’t got it
some folk
don’t have the ears
for it
some folk
don’t have the eyes
they’d be missing out
on something special
for most of the time
so let there be no doubt
as to the bottom line
if you can’t make it
then simply take it
just as long
as you don’t fake it
coz that would be a crime
.
the calendar of memories
measures out the hours
in balmy summer afternoons
and sudden April showers
and I remember her
as snowflakes lost in play
I was a damp November morn
and she was Christmas day
blow me a kiss
single return
returning home
a hard earned day
of daydreams
and negotiated silence
inner peace
for pieces of sky
the heavens shout out
with special relevance
blue and vast cavernous
swallows me whole
and then spits me out
this is not enough
but it’s all too much
coughing up
spewing out
piss and puke
where beauty stops
so does the bus
stop
stop
stop
.
here’s to those louche lounge lizards
and licentious feline derelicts
who propped me up to dip my pockets
and barfly angels who furnished me with flesh
but were blameless in my corruption
nothing appealed to me like everything
and having everything I wanted more
because every pleasure seems attainable
when you’re a drunkard and a whore
.