There’s comfort in knowingthat I know your words.And I do hear you fromtime to time butnow, now your voice is oftencoming through my ownvibration.I suppose that’s what happenswhen it’s been a littlewhile.I’ll go therest of my hopefullylongish or longenough lifereciting yourgems and boasting yourwisdoms andI’ll sound just like the others thatramble on about someoneno oneContinue reading “Bus Change”
That used to be me down there.Loud friends, loud stumbles,loud lives, loud problemsbut a soft understandingit’s fine.And we were fine.Fine expires, you know.This and thatand the friends moveon andontop of life isno longer your normal,normalizing problems isyour new crusade, notcrusading for the sake of it. I suppose it’s a usualthing to be stood here,looking down,Continue reading “Phantom Pains”
Who would have lied first?Would you have put meout of my misery orwould I have givenyou yours?Playwrightsmy rightsas a person ofyour interestbut they nevergranted me anaside.Your tone was alwaysfor your own earsand never for minebut this I knewwith that firstnight.Why didI give toyouthe fragile little piecesthat were too smallfor your hands,hands of mendingof bending boneandContinue reading “Bending Bone”
They all sound the samethese blokes.Blokey blokes.Middle agedmiddle spokenmiddle mused.Won’t bother with excitementbecause they’rejust so laid back.Better than their homeland.Superior to their countrymen.‘Concrete jungle’ is thebiggest ‘fuck you’to ever run from theirthin, fireless lips.Good luck,better man.Your shoulders must hurtunder the weight ofcarrying aroundthe impression thatthe world owes youSomething. Everything.Good luck, better manand godspeedto your motorbike.
The words were there,So present, so loudThat even at a whisperOr chuckleThey fly like roman candles. The words made verse,Verse that I’ve known.Read, mulled over, read again and recitedBut my own head and my own tenorHad nothing on this.My wildest imagination andMy most insane creation could not have prepared meFor these words. Like this. TheseContinue reading “Dragon Chase”
It’s the art of moving onI suppose.An art it truly is,Equal parts calculation, meditationAnd luckWrapped up in a dance on the edge of Beachy Head. When I leap, do I leap too high? Too far?Not enough. Am I moving in its rhythm or simply performing in a chorus that Everyone wants to hear.There are many who wouldContinue reading “The Rest is Nothing”