autumn at the station

where are the brown and golden leaves of autumn ?
yesterday sick in bed
today looking for health
last night breathing trouble
breathing with difficulty
today keeping an eye on the situation

new york hit by hurricane sandy

i wait

for money, for disaster
for truths, for ecstasy
for something unknown

MORNING TIME

and it hits me so hard
sometimes
it´s 8 or 9 or 10 in the morning
and the world stares at me
as if ready to eat me up
gobble me up in three bits
and this cold stare
drives me crazy
and, mummy, i don´t know what to do
and all roads closed
jesus  ! why me ?

my birthday

a Geordie´s son
some wrong done
ni hanna kenna
kanje
wit witless
wot tailor?
why witch ? bitch ?
so apostrophic
apologetic
so he keeps driving onwards

a morning

wake from tears dreaming
walk out onto the lookout
east the pitiless life-giver glaring and screaming at me
west the moon
the recipient
incapable of love
sigh or scream ?
my north is south
and in the affairs of men
this all has no import

Many Miles

edging very slowly
sideways
over great clods of earth
twigs, gravel, spilt cooking oil

huge stress
small crab
many many miles from the sea

FIXATED

-->

fighting

for the answers to hidden questions

sinking into paranoia

mouth twisted tight

body taut

whilst every moment

desire stampedes through me

unable to play

unable to pretend that your refusals don´t affect me

getting younger by the minute

soon to be

a mewling, pulling baby

a shell of one who once was

or

who once thought he was

somebody, something

HOW NOW ?

how now
little martin cow ?
whaddoido ?

twenty years and more
i was in your clutches and in your bed
yesterday you opened the fingers of your hand
waved me away
closed the bedroom door
telling me i can go now

my heart
my heart of different ages
guardian of my times
my heart that keeps time
and no landslide ever blocked the river
my heart that i have from my mother
keeps on
kicking, shouting punching
running, riding, rolling
beating out
my very own martin blues