Apparently
you instinctively know
the right decision
ten minutes before
you actually make it.
What you were doing
ten minutes ago,
what was on your mind -
all becomes inevitable
like a twisting leaf
waiting to land.
You were
wondering weren’t you
and now,
you read poetry.
The answer,
is still
no.
You
want
to fight
and I will not bite
and you argue all tonight -
know now I just will not bite
life is more than fight
flight from torpid shite
and understand
I will not bite
and therefore,
will not
write.
This is where the rhythm is
this soft pushed bounce before the strokes
this snapping beat and accent too
inviting ghosts of crack and groove
and how my vantage swoops to dash.
This is air this rhythm fizz
this friction heat this hot-coal stoke
this movement out and pocket in
enticing hosts with smack and move
and low my hinted pulse is hatched.
This is prayer soft this rhythm is
this once hushed ounce now pounded smoke
this balanced reap, these payments due
these marks excising rough with smooth
and now, a vintage Zildjian splash.
It’s just a word,
that’s all it is.
Not so very different to
the others.
In fact, there are
171,476 choices
we could also
make.
Just another word
amongst the multitude,
that’s all it is -
just a word
and we’re struggling now
holding tweezers
over dirt.
It’s just a
word,
It’s just a word.
It’s just a stupid
word
We are too
ashamed
to say.
i am full
swagger swelling
bloated even
and i am vain
and i am pumped
balloon edged modesty
moon-faced travesty
spoon ace
mastery
think
the fullest thing
a womb maybe
dam water lees
and log jam
milk shake
wheeze
think now
a dust world bus
stretched like a saddlebag
but not like us
like uterine kin
fit to burst
like sunset
rust
and now
the highways
midnight bound
and i am full.
it’s pictures
in your mind
i see
just think
when you read
me.
Words
are warriors
let them ride
over mountain’s teeth
let them climb
let them leap
like ghosts of mastabas
over sands and tradition
raised against ignorants
peeling skin of sycophants
mouth breathing their falsehoods
with dead machines
only numbers describe
but never heal.
Words are warriors
let them run
between fallen honours
let them charge
let them roar
loud against the halfwits
and their door sniggering
doomed meat stares
never seeing stars.
Let them loose
among dumb and damned
let them out
let them free -
speaking to the idiots
line dancing in blood.
Shred ropes of shock and awe
before ask and lust for more.
Dead must be hypocrasy
and words must fight.
Now stop the war.
It feels like
you are nudging me,
pushing subtly
on a hotpan pepper
not quite cooked
and always,
I am terracotta red
swirling into
white.
It feels like,
you are touching me,
cells whirling -
twisting vapors again
like old-hooked pike
and always,
I am led
though kissing nil
but night.
It feels like,
you are tempting me,
feintly waiting
like un-lined paper
parchment smooth
but always,
I am ink and splatter
squirming into
spite.