22 Aug 2016

Disbelief



Reality is a walk in the park
The circles of terror become old and dusty
They slow and grate and are at last
Predictable

Gates stay locked
Fences high and strong
Razor wire for your ambitions
It comes and goes but the walls are always
There

Yet
The hardest days are a simple equation
Comedy is after all just
Tragedy plus time
All you need is patience and imagination

Knowing when to believe the lie
When to buy into the story
Suspension of disbelief is invaluable
But
You can’t always win
And that’s fine
So don’t listen to those movies where they
Tell you otherwise

If you truly believe…
If your heart is pure…
If you are doing what you love…
It will all work out

To throw caution to the wind in this town
Is the same as pissing into it

There is still a time and place for the
Fear brought about by risk
You can still jump
Without breaking a single bone
You just need patience and imagination

Reality is a walk in the park
But at night
In the darkness
Wide awake as young foxes scream
It is your dreams that must be overcome.


2 Aug 2016

A small sky (after Georgia O’Keefe)



Dreams of what will remain after I am gone
Thoughts and words followed by spilled drinks
Silence

They will never say
            He grew up under a large sky
Though I may ask someone to lie about
That.





25 Jun 2016

Cold hearted




I am told sometimes
By those few closest to me
That I appear unfeeling
It goes from accepted joke
to truthful criticism
And I disagree

Cynical maybe but not
Defeated by any of them
I remain unbroken by the rocks crashing
At my sides
Nor taken by the saltwater

Not harsh or inhuman
Although the humans – well…
But still not cold
Quite the opposite in fact

My heart
This heart I feel beating
Now in my chest

Is a raw nerve

An open wound

It is a raging campfire
Burning through a rainstorm

And it must remain lit
Otherwise I look around and
This
All of this
Will dampen it to ash.




24 Jun 2016

And then the churches lock their doors





And the people ran
Not away, but toward the altars
Towards broken bread and cheap wine
Towards Him

And so consumed do the buildings become
Overflowing with single celled organisms
That white collars swing thick ropes across the
Great wooden doors
And heave them together
The mourners and preachers and believers
Stuck together like one holy puzzle

Man woman and child
Are closed in and safe and
Proven right
At least in their own minds
The shared mind
The terrified mind

Friedrich would laugh
And Wilson and McKenna
And Bucky Fuller
Meanwhile the ghost of Voltaire, pisses
Down onto the ornate steeple and roof
Those inside exclaiming ‘praise heaven for
The tears of god!’

And outside
On the shining cobbled streets
We few are left with
All our hearts desire
The space and freedom and divided truth
Anarchy and love
With no sirens or flags
No clowns dressed as dictators
Our own version of the world
And the world as it should be.


3 Jun 2016

There goes me, really really slowly…



  
Dan is a weak swimmer
Dan wants to live surrounded by the largest waves in the world

Dan is a liar
Dan wants to be loved by everyone

Dan has weak legs
Dan wants to get stronger

Dan has a bad memory
Dan keeps drinking red wine

Dan doesn’t want to copy Bukowski
Dan can’t help but write the way he does

Dan is scared of black people
Dan is scared of white people

Dan feels pity for the hundred year old Indian man who lives across the rd
Because he can see himself when he looks at him

Dan hates his name being written or spoken over and again

Dan loves too much too often
Dan feels too little too often

Dan wants to get paid for his poetry
Dan hates journalistic and professional writers

Dan idolises Gallo, and Dali and Billy Childish
Dan wants to meet Robert Anton Wilson

Dan gets on with women better than men
Dan needs to get more red wine

Dan is a potential murderer
Dan is full of ideas and hope for the world

Dan wants to just stay in bed a bit longer
Dan wants to turn over after the alarm clock cracks his head
And sink into blonde hair for 2 more beautiful hours of sleep

Dan is a scoundrel
Dan has confidence that things will be ok
Sooner or later.


(circa 2006)

28 Apr 2016

Round peg, square hole




I am it seems
Always
Five minutes away from kissing you
Five minutes from holding you close and
Breathing you in as
When first we met

The need is still there
As strong as ever
A burning and want
But what of those clock hands

Which seem to slip
Or fade
Or are held back from
Ever reaching just the right time
Am I the one doing this?

I blame unseen forces
The universe and Darwin
Einstein and Bohr
How can one
Who needs you so much
So often
Reject all possibility of being held
Close and warm and
Safe

And yet the pattern fits
My constant attempts to fit into
Unsuitable spaces
Incorrect times
Fighting to get in
Fighting to get out

I am
Always
Five minutes away from kissing you
Five minutes from holding you close

I keep coming back to the fire
The constant predictability of change
And how
To just make peace with this
And with you
That is all I ask.