Monday, 21 September 2009


A smoker’s hack told me what it was, as opposed to a regular cough:
Only one load of jelly for a gob full, and a hell of a job getting up.
I care little for the witless, and less for the wet,
And like to scare them shitless until they welter in their sweat.
I still feel the anger I had when I was younger and hungrier,
And have to stop the Ottoman in me wanting to conquer
Anyone I meet, though the landing mirror never lies,
In length and shape and size.

Corseted men defend themselves well until their shells are
Removed, then the weight of their worlds, whether ill got
Or earned, encircle the tools of their youth,
And they look like the sort who fuck taught hairless men
With rings around their testicles, or the fools we used
To laugh at as kids : the guys who work to drink,
The girls who’re sick in morning sinks or those
Who are greedy with reason.

I never sought the limelight, though I never wanted to be upstaged
Either, and finding the balance, especially upon public boards,
Has hardened me. I need energy: solar or God
Forbid coal or fusion or fission as fuel, anything faster than
Eurasian gas, and suited to personal renewal. It’s funny
How the end of the Earth is right behind me now it’s
Time to get off my arse and live a little before
There’s nothing left to write about.

No comments:

Post a Comment