Confessional

I’m coming clean
cause it’s good for my soul
I stole them words from a cracker box
I’m leaving town on a bus later on
a circuitous route through the badlands
throw any blood hounds off my trail
I never liked it here anyway, it’s a shithole
the folk round here never took to me
some people say that I’m vain
but I never claimed to be perfect
I like myself if that’s what they mean
when it comes to me I’m biased
some distrust me cause I have no soul
but when push comes to shove I’m honest
don’t you go thinking I’m running away
it’s just that I’m allergic to lynch mobs
and when they find out just what I did
they’ll come to an early consensus
that I am no longer meant for this world
but loving someone was never a crime
whatever the difference in status
just to be sure that you understand
it wasn’t the act, but the feelings
I left her in tears, but its better this way
a life on the lam is no life at all
when you’re young and receiving a baby
.

The Power Of Speech

where do you get your sharps?
I need to know they’re clean
I’m allergic to dirty things
so don’t touch my pistol
unless you wash your hands
I get more trouble that way
than opposable thumbs allow

your voice sounds kinda thin
hold it up to the light for me
because I know about these things
I know what you were on the inside
you were a lavatory superintendent
and a bona fide shit herder

there’s no shame in that my friend
many a named player shovelled shit
I’m the prescient son of a prescient son
And I’d have had the readies handy
if I had only foreseen their coming

so spill me that trick you do
when you’re bombed out
down under the bleachers
it’s cheap seats for me and you
until we can fashion key holes
and the necessary certificates
to get us from here to there
wherever here or there is

I know you think you know me
but that’s unlikely to be the case
somethings are unknowable
and others have matching luggage
with irregular identities carved in haste
presumably out of dubious necessity

those spectators who crowd us out
at the soup kitchen
I pay them to stare at me
it forces me to remain spectacle
in a world that rains disappointment

but I’m over all that for the time being
except for the embarrassment
and the sudden deep coil reflex
when someone mentions her name
I know you don’t mean nothing by it
so don’t give it a second thought
I only called to reassure you
that I still have the power of speech
.

Your Favourite Lover

Three’s crowd darlin’
Did no one tell you that?
Three caused more murders
Than greed ever done
And baby that’s a fact
There’s a man odour in here
Like the smell of dying dogs
You better burn those sheets
Cause they’ve been spoiled for me
There’s only room for one man here
So who’s it going to be?
.
When I first met you baby
Five or six years ago
You didn’t have a clue
But my how you have grown
Have you gone all femme fatale?
Is this a game you’ve been playing?
Well the fun and games end now
Don’t waste your time explaining
You better make your mind up
Or I’ll have to set you free
Who’s your favourite lover
Is it him or is it me?
.

Bagman

I always had to drag the low end. There was a crock of shit at the end of my rainbow. That’s the very first time I was gifted anything for nothing. There’s irony in that statement cause brothers and sisters – nothing, not even shit, ever comes for free. I was once an archdeacon for the diocese of no hopers, now I’m a bagman for the combine. I collect what’s due them from the people of the parish. They shell out a little corn to those who’re in need and I gather the proceeds. I just come from stoving Fat Eddie’s face in. I get a little vexed when people don’t pay. For one thing I’m supposed to – it’s the nature of my job and for another I’m on a slice of the trim. It’s in my own interests that the punters cough up; so if they don’t then things can get rough.

Fat Eddie’s wife asked who gave me the right. I told her I was free to do as I pleased. She told me my freedom was an obscenity while I helped keep my neighbours in chains. That was something to contemplate; however briefly, I’m no philosopher so I wouldn’t know. I just do my job and don’t think about it, because in my line of work thinking doesn’t pay. If it was up to me there’d be no collections and we’d all live in peace like the good Lord says. But it isn’t up to me, so I do what I have to. Whatever it takes to keep my head above water. Times are tough and they’re getting tougher. I just play the game. I don’t make the rules.

Some local loser followed me from Eddie’s. My tracks were still warm and revealed my bloody feet. This joker tried to tap me right there on the corner. I said I don’t do loans, I only collect them, but I gave him a sawbuck for temporary relief. My good deed done, I was soon on my way. I had places to go and people to meet. Business is booming on account of the recession. People are hard pressed, but they still have to eat.

They said I was a sociopath and a menace to society when they locked me up and lost the key. I just do my job to the best of my ability and hope that it’s enough to keep my people off the street. We all do what we think we have to. That’s the nature of the game we all play. We are all of us slaves to the system and no matter what they say none of us are free.

.

4:15 am

a good night’s rest, so they say
is the next best thing to sleep
but I can’t stay still long enough
to get me some relief
I close my eyes on the world
to reveal a world within
I can’t divert my mind
from the thoughts
that are keeping me awake
I try my best every night
you don’t know how hard I try
there’s just no ease in the dark
but that’s the nature of the beast
the quirt cuts deep, yes it does
and won’t grant me no release
it’s a long slow death, so it is
when all I need’s a little peace
.