clean and tidy

coarse cloth roughly cut
feet stuffed into shoes
mathematics drill
brushed and burnished
scrubbed with no feeling

more important that our boy is clean and tidy
than that he lives

i don´t give a wanker´s toss
i don´t care,
give a shit, i mean
fuck this

so i pay them back in their own coin
and i pay the price

can you ?

you´re mid fifties
you ask how much can you still learn
can you change your thinking and feeling cells ?
one arbitrary answer is yes
so just do it brother
and let the waves take you

the wonders of the world

you´re brutally honest,
fearless in your statements and opinions
yet a stranger can tell you something:
it was not the bottle,
it was you who loved his mother
tonight, in a lull, think of your boy
the child´s wonder and fineness of feeling
and be truthful
but not brutal.
during such violent upheavals
you will forget much
but you also know that bitterness is a coarse travesty
and you are all worth more than that

my cup

i feel the wildness around me
and scurry back to my stall
the shining metal bars of my cage
the stained concrete floor
the radio with its faraway ecstasy
my coffee mug
a book of dark poems.
surrounded by
dervishes, bouncers, junkies, demons, coopers, fetishists, wide boys, the sexually driven, price gougers, rats, backstabbers, power athletes, mixers and shakers,
i blow out my match and withdraw

what will be

in three quarters of an hour
it´s over
i will eat lunch, drink coffee and normal functioning will resume
the usual dirty broken tugboat will start inching around the harbour again
past the stink of the seals
midst the automobile tire halves
the gull calls above piercing, unforgiving
and what will be, will be

december

in december
the memories swamp me
hospital beds,
bottles lobbed in the air
waiting for the crash
a thousand words
ripples caused by words and world events
your breasts, your lips.
you know, it´s the wrong end of the telescope,
not so important,
crumple it up and trash it.
i fear life´s dance floor
i fear the normal interrogations
i fear the dismissive jerk of the head
no-one can turn this ship around
on my behalf.
i shall roll myself another song
and cook myself a new poem

one more

crashing chords and eels winding in the polystrene box
just one more print in the mud
just one more kiss.
mouth, gruel one more time
i am a fool
i am an adjective plus a noun
let me say one more time
i greet the monster machines of medical imagery

and in the cafe next to the hospital
drink coffee, smoke cigarettes and read newsprint
i don´t care
i go on one more time