there are times

there are times
when you feel every inch of your skin
you transfer the fingers
so that your head no longer splays them
register the pressure release of each individual finger
you feel movement in your belly
as the tea you drank negotiates a path through your digestive system
mobilizing enzymes and stomach muscles
you feel the sole of your feet pressing through the sandal onto the floor tiles
right leg crossed over left, the slight knick in the knee
white noise in your ear
you breathe in and out
you assume you will live forever
you know this is illusion
you know the score as regards immortality
your heart of different ages
will not keep beating for ever
these banal moments
intimations of mortality
are maybe all you really have

from over yonder

CLUCK CLUCK CLUCK
TIP TAP
STOMACH TURVY
THOUGHTS
TICK TOCK TICK
TIME
SMELL
BREATHING
DRINKING
CLICK CLACK
DONT STOP

good advice

running on empty
slurping up the lees
why sneeze ? why do or don´t ?
you make a wish for change, it won´t
less you shit it out
spatter and spit it out
churn it all up

hard liquor, dirty cups, ketchup
scrambled savage orgies
with gorgeous glimpses of frills
fuck thrills -- what a feeling !
your head´s now reeling
as the real
the sexual
intense
contextual
hetero, metro, homo or solo
storms out guns a-blazing
sending you like crazy

hit the ground running son
or you´ll break an ankle
spoil your game
and end up back with the same
old empties

talk

fading in and out
thinking
really ?
why ?
should this really be ?
we talk and talk and talk
and talk and talk
in a vain attempt
to order the world

hospital

it´s mean
how it´s so clean
no tics no bugs in the clinic
spick spit polish span
soon you will utter your gutter mutter
your last words
drop your last turds
shit´s over
dead certain
behind the final curtain
physical corpse in the hole
starting to decay
from smelling off to stinking bad
shit´s over
remember the white cliffs of dover
they never knew you
and won´t bawl boohoo
and life will continue

and i

sitting down tense
in the dark night chair
don´t creak !
don´t wake him !
strive to breathe silently !
and i, my old sheet stained with salt, sperm, green seawater
taut like a force 8 is blowing
creaking, groaning, cracking
just holding
despite patches, compromises and rough repairs
my heart drumming
on the taut animal skin
it won´t last for ever

heart and a voice

i wish you that the voice reaches you through the lines, rulings, organisations, the winds screeching their beliefs, through industrial disasters, blighted lives, cor blimey trousers, televised horrors, revolving glass, dervish skyscrapers reflecting sexual desires, the predators with their apex cards, staring ambiguously at their slaves, and through those perversions prowling your night's mind. your heart that you have from your mother is no servant, no, no, quite the opposite. i wish you because you are born of woman and to spite the layers, the cultured drapes, clinging, seared into your skin, despite your brain wound as a massive industrial generator, its parts heat stamped with serial numbers, its coils and the thick honeyed epoxy, its moveable and stationary components, slopping around in acid baths, the stench of the seals and the burning tyres. your mouth may well be mouthing cruddy texts from the long gone, from talkers whose utterances chanced to stick on the wall o' tears, the singers, the judges and every ordinary human idiot who walked this little earth, scratching a micron off the surface before it's carelessly wiped away by rearranging nature, by the great mass murderer, the messenger without a message.
i wish me or you or someone or anyone that a voice sounds which you hear with your heart of different ages, the heart you have from your mamma, as you are born of woman, a voice : child, everything will be fine.