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Monthly Archives: October 2012

Starey Mary, shopping trolley lady

Cemetary east-side, fertile dumping floor

Voices creeping closer, stamping 90’s lampshade

The screaming mirror knows what my body never shows

 

Musical sirens, silence sprayed

Effecting butterflies, Wiesel crushed a snail

Whose hairy mattress itches killers dreams

And the Omagh cats slink and oscillate at night

 

Pet for a wife and a splinter in his eye,

Cenotaph for pet, the failing map will trick,

Nose ring, grape vine, grave finder boy

Worm burrowing further, he can’t piss in his sleep

 

Reduced to a box, monoxide laughing

Decay of the country, a pumpkin’s life story

Glory, glory glory hole, Kauri’s surround the camp,

The lamp without a shade jerks me right awake.

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We’re all world-wide capital investment junk

Money is money forgetting who I’ve been inside

The 50 cent’res devils hands, they know they are too,

The town crawling, oxygen-gasp, mud-eating proles.

 

Body fluid carpet, tickle armpit noise

Turning ‘I know you do it for all the boys’

I might have ended up in these wicked gates

Concrete, pine trees, walking fuel, woodlice cower.

 

When you’ve had your bath in the dark

Come and discuss how we’ll all give up smoking

Dead meat for body, ticking pulse humming

While you start to grow a beard, betrayal of humanity.

 

Your liquid dinner is ready soon

Germing weeds sprout, the pain of being a man

Neon lights and plastic spoon,

Current gambling pastime, if I never call.

Now what is it that happens when you grow up?

Booster seat and booster pack

Become energy boosters and getting the sack

And you only become scared once the

Truth. Comes. Dawning!

 

Somewhere, a person dreams of dungaree blue skies

It’s a Cadburys world, it’s just covered in flies,

And I don’t really care about those middle-class lies

But how they maintain that look in their eyes

Which say’s ‘We’re safe’, ‘It’s the right choice’ and ‘We really can change the world’.

Growing up means this; a cynical balance of love and hate.

 

Now we know reality’s deal,

It’s big-arsed builders eating sushi, reading ‘the sun’,

And tough-nut primates who’s god gave them a gun,

But it’s not all really that immoral to steal,

And there’s that look again. We aren’t ever safe,

I know that this life’s for real.

This time last year, I was more than a year younger.

Last October, I hardly knew what I was missing. It was still a leisurely month, spent walking the tree-lined streets, watching my favourite chocolate bar wrapper change from yellow to brown. Hard to remember I was still exploring this town and now my beard is just a little bit thicker, my poetry book slightly wiser, and the pornography I watch just a tad finer.

I’m not a miserable old bastard quite yet, though I’ve studied the greats. I have read more of their books and watched all the debates, grew up at double speed. I know I’m not the only one. I found a friend I once had…

She was a one-time teenage rebel; now the first to marry and her chin size doubled. Can you get seriously married this young? Her lovers’ waistcoat comes from a single fad from about five years ago. Less knights of the round table, more nights of the long knives. I’m sure this time next year I’ll scald myself for caring. These things change. Like when I moved hairdressers. My barber was getting too close to my ears with his clippers.

Since last year, there is a lingering sense of absence. October to October, dust to dust. And you should never have the feeling you got it all sussed. This time last year, I was quite a few years younger. For you were still here – this time last year.