My credentials were impeccable
At least on paper, if not in the flesh
Your papers were forged
But I didn’t mind
You brought me more pleasure
Than a thousand dead poets
“The only good poet is a dead poet.”
Isn’t that what you said?
Imposters pout and posture
Across the page
With borrowed icons
And stolen voices
Genius lays face down in the gutter
Death is the final measure
Of its dedication to the craft
But not for me darlin’
I want to be adored, at least once
However briefly
And in this life, not the next
.
Had to bounce
Had no alternative
That place was my grave
The end of the road
You may think me a coward
Be that as it may
But I was running towards
Not running away
.
I swapped the charismatic
For the lead - lined Kafkaesque
If I’m turning over a new leaf
I want my papers in order
Before heading south
Latest developments suggest
There may be trouble
At the border
But my disguise is perfect
I wear reason like a crown
And I’m so very high
I may never lay it down
.
This is coyote weather
The season of the cow
The days are drawing in
The nights grow more profound
Anything could happen here
And very often does
So I’m barricaded in
In case push comes to shove
They say a little orange juice
Will help to bring you down
But someone cut my strings
I no longer see the ground
.
she was in worse shape
than any woman I'd ever seen
she'd had the life ground out of her
until she signified nothing to no-one
one sorry night
just for the hee haw
we jacked her
into the sing song
and we heard her howl
just like she was dying
we saw that crazy bitch
had ghosts in her bones
and that she was infected
with pain beyond reason
the best part of me
is too often obscured
by the daily grind
of an ordinary life
only to be
rediscovered
in the unexpected hour
as a strange and familiar
radiance
beyond the reach
of the human eye
.
