I can't begin to tell you how I feel
about all the people I have loved
who have died.
It is like a great big bottomless chasm
that is airless, where no words exist,
and when I try to find it, reach into it,
it becomes even more airless
and wordless.
It is like trying to reach out
and touch my shadow.
What can I say?
I don't know?
We said everything.
And we loved each other.
Because we did.
And then we didn't.
And we said nothing.
Because we didn't.
There is nothing left to say.
But I want to.
It's just that I no longer know how.
With you.
I had a day dream
With you in the main scene,
what do I do with that now?
War? What is it good for?
Extracting some sort of prestige,
From relatives you could never
have possibly known.
The march. The medals.
Existing in the nutmeggy hue,
of making claims to have descended
From one of the good old boys.
I miss your ginger hair
and the way you like to dress.
Those blue jeans on you
and the way you don’t give a shit.
I think of the things you like to do
and that I’m now one of them.
Why don’t you come over
so we could cuddle and kiss.
Because I like the way you smell
and how you like to caress.
You could spend the night for once
and we could wake up in bliss.
You say it is hit and miss,
but I say that you could commit,
Nothing big and scary,
but it’s the way it is, admit it.
We could stare into each other’s eyes
and then wave and say good bye.
Looking back is romantic,
as I turn the corner and walk away.
Never sure if I will see you again,
knowing it is just a matter of when.
The picture of the tortured artist
DOES anything I say make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does ANYTHING I say make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I say make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I SAY make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I say Make sense?
The picture of the tortured artist
Does anything I say make SENSE?
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
Yes.
Do you love me?
I missed the opportunity
once in a life time, everyone knows that,
to make good on an investment,
but I didn't sell when it was clearly time to,
greed and fear are a powerful combination,
and it passed me by,
and the market fell,
and now I am one of those people
who are hoping against hope
that that once in a life time opportunity
will come again.
I never thought I'd be one of those people.
One of those people at whom I have looked down my nose,
Stupid people. How could they be so stupid, I’d think.
What right do they have to live, I ask you?
And here I am, one of them. One of those people,
Probably forever lamenting my stupidity.
I should go and stand with them,
Take up what is clearly my rightful place.
Get a sign to wear around my neck,
Too Stupid.
His soul is forever doomed to wander aimlessly in the netherworld quite removed from any reality any of us could possibly recognise, or know.
It is a lonely place full of the broken and the unsavable who were never ever strong enough, or lucky enough, to escape from it entirely.
Sure, they made the occasional attempt 'out' but always they found themselves somehow sinking back into the mire of the dark and the damned.
Most of them disappearing without trace or evidence of them ever having been, not loved, or remembered by a single living soul.
It shouldn’t be like that. We should all have saviours in our lives.
Luck and redemption. We should all be lifted up when we fall.
But we don’t. Life isn’t like that. Not for all.
Depositories full of broken people
Waiting in the half dark for their turn,
As the able bodied rush about
Trying to bring their turn about sooner.
It almost looks exciting out there
In here, I’m fighting off despair
What the fuck!
Something with my heart, they say,
Let me go home,
And perhaps the pain might just go away.
But, no, I have to stay. For how long?
We don’t know. We’ll run some tests,
Take some blood. We’ll stick this needle
permanently in. And,
we’ll attach this to your skin,
here, here and here. The machine
will beep into the night. Try and sleep.
Wake up, I’ll do your vitals.
Really, what time do you make it?
The middle of the night, put this around your arm.
You have an enzyme in your blood. Try and stay calm.
Blood sugar high. Excellent BP, though.
You had a minor coronary event,
Probably nothing about which to lose sleep,
You’re in good hands. Get some rest.
No, you can’t go home just yet.
Something bright orange,
And really fucken fat.
How could you miss, answer me that?
All those moments, all those friendship moments, when we had brilliant times together, all of us friends, over the years, all over the world, that passed, and are gone.
And the years sailed by, and they’re done and they’re over, all we have is what we remember, only fragments now.
Fleeting images of, all those times we laughed, all those times we cried, all those times we sang, all those cigarettes we smoked, all the times we adored.
When we were all together, being together, when some of us were actually together, remember that? Shake of the head. Times we never thought would end, but they did.
Then one of us died, just like that, out of the blue, and all of those times ended there and then, never to happen again, not without Ben. And we all came together, all us friends, and we remembered, everything, again.
We talked late into the night, like we were once again alive.
All those magical times, when life was a natural high, and we thought we could fly?
Sublime.
How did they end?
All those times, we loved, that we talk about like god, or the reverence of first love, when we found our lives? Us guys?
Life got in the way, there are things we have to do today, that is not play. Adult things, up early, the daily slog, to pay our way. It’s a shame.
Life should be a game. One you win. With glory. And whim.
All those moments,
All those friendship moments,
When we had brilliant times together
All of us friends,
All over the years, all over the world,
That passed, and are gone.
And the years sailed by,
And they’re done and they’re over,
All we have is what we remember,
All these years later.
Fleeting images of,
All those times we laughed,
All those times we cried,
All those times we sang,
All the times we adored.
When we were all together,
Being together,
Times we never thought would end,
But they did end.
Then one of us died,
just like that,
and all of those times ended then,
And we all came together,
All us friends,
And we remembered
All those times,
Again.
All those magical times,
Remember those times?
All gone.
How did they end?
All those times,
We loved.
I write because it is a need in me,
it has always been there unquestioningly.
The only thing that changes it is my inability
to get it out, to take the time to say it.
Not knowing what I would later come to know,
my own role in what I want to say.
You know, just write it, and worry later,
if it is good, worthwhile, interesting, or just okay.
Of course, I worry if it is good, or bad,
or if it makes me glad, or sad,
or if it looks good on the page,
you know, appealing to the eye.
The way the words congregate together,
dance, or just stand around, live or die.
And yes, I want people to read it,
and laugh, or cry, except mostly
they will simply ask me why?
Which, of course is okay, but you know I’d rather,
hear them say, “this bit is good,” or
“I liked what you did there.”
They are the best bits, for sure, but failing that,
I don’t really care, as I will go on writing,
as long as I am breathing air.
That much I know to be true and fair.
Winter is cold.
Unexpected East Coast chill,
they say. But it is July,
mid winter, what were they expecting?
A heat wave? If we are going to have a chill,
it would be this time of year! I wonder,
why do they think it is unexpected?
The air is bitterly cold, outside.
It is true. I don’t need the weather service
to tell me what I already know. 1 degree,
they say. Feels like zero, they say.
But temperature is all feel, what
is the difference, I think?
You can’t jerk off with Long Johns on
You can’t get a good grip on your long john dong.
You can’t stretch out your stroke,
which you need to if you’re a bloke.
It’s a truth, we may not want to speak of,
but we shouldn’t treat such things with kid gloves.
Boys will be boys it is true of all time,
and getting your long johns off for pleasure is not a crime.
In fact, it is probably good for you,
otherwise, the stuff is possibly going to set like glue.
Get it on, and give those pipes a flush,
it will make you feel better, like oh so much.
