TKO

I’m taking a dive     but don’t count me out      I’m the fringe contender     and a bit of a bleeder     so it’s only natural to take a beating      whenever it’s dished me     whatever the day     or untimely season     a change in the weather       brings unwelcome challengers     from within and without      to pin me on the ropes    and then sucker punch me     it’s a losing battle     the odds are against me right from the bell     but I’ll stage a rematch      on the bloody apron     the most valiant of bums    in another rigged bout 

revolver

don’t start me…     once I get going…       god will be turning in his grave      after the latest abomination        someone murdered innocence     he still has the weapon      and he could care less about forensics        coz no one really cares    for innocent victims     but it’ll make great TV      it’ll fill the news papers      and conspiracy theorists will wet their pants

my neighbours number their burdens    and pray for forbearance       and that’s alright      I too have burdens I can count       but I’m a thief     I don’t require no forbearance    I’ll take my chances with the corporeal law      I can fend for myself     I often had to     but this weapon still holds five bullets      it must serve some other purpose         or it’s no gun at all…

 

 

the cosmology of finks

other peoples misery is delicious     they say it’s good to share…   that a trouble shared – is a trouble doubled      a secret shared is a loaded gun    confidentiality is a power network     your mother is an informant      and your friends policemen      your life is another’s gossip      because this is just a soap opera      and you can trust others – only to play their parts       those who  betray you  may have noble intentions     but it’s your dirty laundry hung out for inspection

 

 

my death songs

 man     I’m strung out like never before        this attritional warfare has shriveled my stones      and turned my blood to rust    I’m barely fit for the knacker's cart     I’m stretched beyond endurance     and wearing pretty thin      I’m in a place of ghosts and shadows    I can’t survive here long     whatever the prognosis     I don’t think I’m going home

my death songs bud ruby on my lips   I’m locked in the organ factory        and marked for vivisection        but I have dirty blood       they have to sort me out    before they cut me open to rummage about    some wired quack      gave me poisonous pills       she said they’d do me good     she said they’d get my business fixed     but here I am in limbo     a million miles from home   I’m belting out my death songs       I don’t know for how long

 

gravity

 this is the order of my days       cyclical      repetitious   and fearsome     I’m as high as a kite      stratospherically      fantastically    orbital       I’m oozing light and heat     and I’m pyrotechnically     blindingly      illuminated

this is the way my spirit  inevitably dives    slumping      toppling       and plummeting          I’m crashing fast      spectacularly     catastrophically      and terminally      I’m in the thrall of some terrible force     frightening      dreadful      and sudden   

this is the power of inexorable gravity     cruel      unforgiving       and devastating  in consequence     vertigo spirals me down    I’m falling    tumbling      and spinning     I am a stone cast on turbulent water    plunging          sinking         and disappearing