Monthly Archives: June 2013

Find me an occupation

And move him out that big house

A real hurdle to clear this time

New laugh for a fresh faced crowd


I can’t put up with what others put up with

But ignore my pain

So find me someone to be

I can talk to them normally again


Find me an occupation

A useful claim on my body

That asks not too much of my head,

So the others I can somehow study


And late at night do you think I could do cards?

Like I did with that drunk driver

Get into household objects, make Polaroid’s

Or go with the grain, every common striver


I sometimes remember what school was like

When I see some kid’s young face

The path of most resistance

In this long and churlish race


Find me a job, concrete life

So I’m kept up at night, not keeping

When I’m in a cloud, I can only remain silent

A sleepy felt prick, hardly feeling


If we screw up yesterday’s newspapers

Can’t we screw up yesterday’s news?

Find me an occupation

‘Cos that’s a simple cruise


And you must feel that sense of duty

Perverting the room and the streets

For a cure we walk off with boys

And top ourselves up with sweets.


If you see me get up and stand by the morning window

I am remembering the accents of one-sided phone calls

And afternoons with mother

And what I was doing on this day, or that day

The details of an old house, an old friend

And how soon it would take for life to resume.


In those moments, you may take me

For I am on autopilot

Tying to think of some metaphor for

Watery lips, cucumber smile

Secret reflections, unspoken connections

And whether dreams satisfy

The real needs of my heart.


Or whether that was all just fodder,

Fodder for some listless afternoon

Or another short poem

With places and cathedral backrooms

Where men turn their wants

Into allegorical nursery-rhymes.


They don’t want to realise how soon

Life will resume

At best they know it’s like a

Half-forgotten old holiday trip

With some quirks, some follies

And their dreams can only be – lost to the world.

They cleared out my house,

Or place of living

Because I tempted the mould


And the swarm

Came and landed

Conjoining the pavements which


The rain washed away,

The sweat of the day,

More bad news,


Which faded none through our restless clocks

I come, the wine is gushing

And man, has she grown up to discover


A cluster of holes

Up in my head

As tree’s and worms breed


My bed creaks

My bones speak aloud

We’ll gather in packs


Remove your fashion and style and

I won’t remember you if

You sit there in the corner, alone


Isn’t that what you want?

Isn’t that what you want?

To start poking at my holes.