Filthy Me.

Nine A M, Paddington Station,
Open, grey tunnel, pushing us all down,
Monday, what a drag,
Pulling in. In line with the filth,
The rest of the filth,
Dying in grey clouds rising, in grey clouds spitting,
Hacking tourists,
Poisoning the children, bringing forward pain and regret,
Dead on all sides.

Into the Smoke in the great, long dark,
Closing in on closing lungs,
Closed doors,
Mistysweat and some girl's pit stain,
Practically hugging this guy I don't even know.

Air Con deceiving me in the stacks,
The British Library protecting its treasures,
Invisible Mist cloaking sweat in cool refre$hment,
But you can still feel the outside heat,
Pawing at the walls,
Like a dog that wants to lick my skin.

Back in the dark, and the cylinder's fogged in,
An orgy of frustration and pissing me off,
Caked in sticky topping, no icing,
The damp air burns my mind again ,
And there's a fire tonight.

*****


Paranoia, UK.

Housed in Vulcan's treasures                                                     watching
The great glass eye on high
        Observe                                              The Dissident, The Renegade
With Omnipotence

Touch in touch out at my whereabouts
See my travels taken
Orwell's Nightmare in faceless, voiceless thought
You have your gollum now
But space aged

We          Never hear your walking, or talking
Just stalking cloaked in mirrored shrouds
...And Justice* for all (*- All rights reserved)

You've replaced our spent and tired trust
A crutch for your expenditure
While hidden in the clouds and the birds
       Our enemies with whips and racks

Are we all now guilty?                                                       Has it come to this?
Perhaps we should all where ankle bracelets
And beep you when we leave the house

           Two cars in every garage, on each one a bug
And a computer in every home, with your covert virus sneaking
                                               Should I watch all that I say?
                                                   Or can you already hear me speaking?

*****


Infatuate

From your honey coloured hair down to the square bulge in your back pocket,
As you pour another drink with soft and painted fingers,
Your smile lifts this cynic's sour and crumpled spirit,
And from those pouting lips a summer breeze elapses.

I stand before you a broken man but I know you see me smile,
Those darting eyes of yours, dull blue, expose some fascination,
But I know your slender ribs, your swinging, singing hips and perfect legs,
You'll wonder of me in a day-dream, though we'll never love eachother.

It's nothing like two different worlds, or a reason of any worth,
You are the flower that springs forth to the sun, and I just so much spent dirt,
Your swagger hides your shyness, I know for mine does too,
And though I'd watch you endlessly, there would never be a point to it.

So I'll stay here, gently sipping from your sweetened cup,
While braver men than I juggle with your wounding heart,
And you'll think about me once upon an azure moon,
The story of my life's extent, the fair maiden, and the fool.  

*****


Where Am I. (not a question, but a statement)

I don't know
There's a tiredness         in my head
I have to do something
Make a break for it                                        Go on the run
Do something I've never done before
            Get out of this slow, downward spiral
            Lift myself                                                                     Somehow...
I'd shoot myself in the foot to change the pace
But I'd just end up in pain
Pain's boring now
Been there, got the t-shirt, got the membership
Ran for president
                                               Even that was dull
Words to use: drab, grey, tired, old, pointless, dull                     very dull
Burnt out before I struck the match
Got to do something                                                              SOMETHING!
Nothing
Drowning in nothing, constricted by tedium
Snakes in the darkness
Slithering away from the tired anti-venom of me
I hate that
"Of me" is so fucking pretentious
Annoyed by                little things
The sign of someone losing it
Meet someone
I've lost it

*****


Lit Up

Stroking my shoulder
Kissing my cigarette smkoe into the diamond sky
Soft golden fingers play with my hair
Bubbles tumble upwards and "pop" from icey beer to baking air
The birds don't even flap their wings
The insects cook themselves, still humming
Skin liberated
The atmosphere is flat, dry and clean
My flesh tightens as the water fades away
A day for nothing but rest
And watching the ice melt.

*****


Baxter The Cat

Baxter is the magical cat
Who lies in the sun with an invisible rat
Tossing and turning, twisting his tail
Entranced by the shine from an overnight snail
Climbing the brick work and scampering high
Baxter never asks the "how" or the "why"
He just snoozes in beams of delight
Watching the circling, swooping old kite
he basks in not knowing and dreaming his dreams
He cares not whatever Socrates means
Or that Nietzsche said this or Hegel said that
He is just Baxter the magical cat

*****


A Ciggie In The Sunshine

There's nothing like it
Long hot
Pulling it down with something icy
              Sweet from a pump
Syrup
Like the Barmaid
                                   Sticky under dry Blue
Tasty and bleached
Burning down to ashes
Suck quickly
Secure it,            hold it,                                              hold it
Tingle, waver, relax
            Her blond hair's boiling
Dying in the light
Like me

 

Oasis

I folded my palm tree leaves into big ashtrays

They’re a bit flammable, so now I’m using a coconut

I have a parrot for an alarm clock

Not that I’ve got anything to get up for

I have a bath in the clear blue pool

But there’s no Mr Bubbles so what’s the point?

I ate a rat last night

With red flowers ground up into ketchup

I wish I knew how to enjoy this

But I’m not ready for peace, tranquillity and happiness

Bubbly Brains

Tickle whiskers with frothy licks

Fickle tingles from slurpy sips

Dripping onto burping lips

Bubbles bursting, little tricks

Cuddled creamy, crisp and cold

Holding glass the barmen sold

To me with pennies and with pound

Gulping mouth a pleasant sound

Dribble spots of sparkling broth

Dancing shots and quaffs galore

More I cry for ale’s gone

Lager, Stout or mead in sun

Tipples pop and brush my conk

This plonk is drunk and downed

Drowned by golden amber crowned

With angel’s feather’s fuzzy

Now gone and up it’s disappeared

Beers left and glass is shone with light

Bright with sinking spawn and spill

Thrill in drinking’s for a moment stilled

I Wish I Understood

I think It’s Russian, but it might be Polish

It’s sexy in a very arctic, primal way

I wish I knew those eastern words

But I can’t understand a word they say

Those rolling tongues, those pouting lips

Each exotic syllable from which they drip

Sipping wine and breathing frost

If only I weren’t so hopelessly lost

To wrap them up in fresh bear skins

Another log on the fire finds

Despite displacement of our words

We share feelings, love and minds

No icy frost would stay my heart

No blizzard of despair, nor dark

Would hold me from their fragile hands

For our passion would a fire spark

 

 

Pub

Oh mighty home of beer and wine,

I must remark upon this time,

You look tonight so very fine,

Don’t suppose you wanna come back to mine? 

 

 

Mistletoe Is Poison Y’Know

Robins beat the other birds,

To be cannibals and eat the crumbs.

A rainforest dies for all your cards,

But who am I to kill your fun?

Barely living turkeys rot in cages of deaths,

Just to end up on your Christmas plate.

Kids don’t care for Santa Claus,

But for his goodies they will fake.

Suicides will leap yet again.

The coldness enters all those hearts.

Greed will wrap our presents,

And with your dinner a famine starts.

Coca Cola’s big fat man,

Will sell you all his fluffy toys,

As the matchstick girl dies in the snow.

Only cash can buy you joy.

And all those toys in squalor made,

By folks who make almost zip each day.

Those who wander what a Jesus is,

And why Santa’s people no longer pray.

Now bodies bloat all bulbous,

As the old folk die with flu,

But you got that thing you “love”,

So jolly good for you…

… Merry fuckin’ Christmas.