AT THE END OF DAYS AND DAYS I The blank point at the end of every day rings as true as any moment’s laughter the reason in the plotting of the play was plain ridiculous nothing dafter had ever been dreamt of a loose rafter in a mad house of spooks and the silence at the start of this voyage on this raft her eyes meet mine what little hold little sense I have left is drifting silently away with the swirl of the tide on this craft her hair is as sleek as a lemon sorbet though warm as muffins I loved and laughed her to a dazzling us with such plain craft her hips and eyes fingers came too a presence so tangible I came here there after eyes meet mine what little hold little sense for what now seems to pass for everyday unreal drabness or real naff terr or this blade running on sores this decay dribbling with desire to simply shaft her again you unbutton curl your scarf tear your t-shirt off grotesquely the sheer dense ness of mindlessness rages on carved her eyes meet mine what? little hold little sense on this thirst this emptiness a half terr ibly desired and drunk with such a tense twitch of the wrist while the silent crafter (eyes meet mine, what little hold little sense) now bends the thought of language into prose the language of thought into poetry the mist of despair into the spring rose of smugness curled on itself when you see the violence of religion on a spree there is nothing left but what? Nothing in fact but crystal silence when heaven and sea rhyme for once with no hint of hope or sin hanging from dumb desire the sucker sows verbal gulch into the void where drunk we wobble on to somewhere’s point which then flows somewhere pointless enter a nobody no room with no time space expectancy and such a cluttering meaningless din our ears bleed Tabasco come home and see rhyme for once with no hint of hope or sin the lonely adolescent penis grows into something that can no longer pee the miserable husband sulks and mows the dog shit dandelion and the daisy into a mush of greenly drab hazi ness so the snot flecked stubbles of his chin so magnificent and green and ugly rhyme for once with no hint of hope or sin I just sit down next to her and smile she just stays there next to me then a grin splits her make-up and I can picture the rhyme for once with no hint of hope or sin coming between each of her letters mean while the night shuffles onwards into day and the drinkers start to waffle and lean further downwards into night and the clay of thought turns to sludge outside the warm grey light of us turns yellow with sleep we yawn so gapefully we could choke on the stray atoms of oxygen left for this dawn light and bargain the soft lips and the sheen of her there in front of you still you sway home wherever you put your purpose green light to nonsense a red nose to the way ward mutter of cash reflection she may be as beautiful as the fresh mown lawn who cares in the end who frankly will pay atoms of oxygen left for this dawn right for this disaster the stuff of teen age imaginings pompously delay reason and time rhyme and season the bean stalk of love and light’s just an easy ley line across the nerves of the sky and the play of belief that shoots you as soon as you’re born as soon as you’re able to squeeze and flay atoms of oxygen left for this dawn precious little filters through god’s in-tray of crap multi-coloured tape the rank scorn fullness of nature’s deal that’s why you pray atoms of oxygen left for this dawn right into what passes for existence the noisiness of eternity scares the pants off me I mean it fucking bares my existential butt in its glory -hole dilemma of paranoid presence where? well for example here: god she cares so she’d snuff a cop for me fuck up flares my existential butt in its glory drinks them in like love fingers and tongues pence wobble then show head and tail away lairs of sweetness can still be found down the stairs my existential butt in its glory wends its way into the who fucking cares my existential butt in its glory?
MY EXISTENTIAL BUTT II Listen is there anything that you think listen is there anything that you need listen there is nothing there’s only ink virtually I mean really like spilt seed on the carpet there where last night you peed despite yourself despite your discipline and despite the refusal of your greed or the butterfly that’s stuck on the pin or the fat arms that are stuck in their sink or the fleas that are strangled by a lead or your daughters on their skates on the rink unlovable thought drifters have their creed unlovable thought dodgers only breed neither knows much about virtue or sin they’re just words after all a dirty deed or the butterfly that’s stuck on the pin stuck in turn in your nightmares want a drink? I’m dying for one me too when you are freed from absurd belief and the missing link and you unselfishly and blindly heed the voice of the void where there is no reed in the mouth of a god only the grin on the face of an empty mask you feed or the butterfly that’s stuck on the pin starts to wilt in your belief as a bead tumbles from a rosary or the spin is doctored to correct the foaming steed or the butterfly that’s stuck on the pin of your dress my love this morning and this sense of you your mind your sweetness body smudges the you that I imagine is that ridiculous I don’t think so e ven here with us and your fucking beauty something looks so sublime that I shut up and drink and bleat oh my god we need cre ation like a hole in the head a pup drown the kittens the people will then hiss like cats at the play and they’re wrong and me what do I do only drink shit eat piss in no special order apparently this is unhinged it shrieks on its slate slee p now unwind you need another cup of coffee like a mortgage like uncre ation like a hole in the head a pup py with no head nor tail in what can miss our gold silver bronze opportunity to make things up from nothing and then kiss and tell them to our strange community of fake innocence and reality with its weight of dreams and whose poison sup the stream of remembrances how their stri ation like a hole in the head a pup pet on a chain drips out its rosy sea of puddles of cut mistletoe to tup the night away in a rage of obvi ation like a hole in the head a pup you receive then dump on the motorway a kitten drowned in the toilet downstairs whatever comes you take it anyway whether the cook does well middles or rares your steak eat it who really fucking cares it’s when the clarity drifts up again between the love and the drink and the stares of your kiddies and your sweethearts it’s then that you shake yourself back onto the way stretched out by the parallel line that pairs your reason your feet your love disarray parallel with what? nothing with the hairs on your groin as sad look some bitch bares her arse time to talk about the children I suppose I don’t like the scowls and flairs of your kiddies and your sweethearts it’s then and it’s here where I lie just go away please as drakes rape as stallions mount mares fuck you I say fuck off and die I’ll pay for this later banker who makes dares rattle this womb of words he or she tears pages of the sayable come so sway the credit the bollocks time motion zen which is the soul and unison and hey of your kiddies and your sweethearts it’s then you realise that this is only play the next dinner is look the slowest hen across the screen while the cheating play of your kiddies and your sweethearts it’s then you know where you’re at I mean in fact here go for a pint down the road and eat the stares from nowhere along the dead street it’s here listen it’s now and now it’s gone to where silent memories interact and shrivel look you simply cannot beat this run for freedom and this cooling heat it’s here listen it’s now and now it’s gone too late too bad who cares when I was sacked who jumped in with me? No one so I greet dumb morose majority while the fleet it’s here listen it’s now and now it’s gone to the devil another fold a pleat it’s here listen it’s now and now it’s gone
GONE III Well who now rages against the machine fucking no one does that’s what and who now outrages the boringly squeaky clean me sometimes I guess in a vodka row of procrastination before bed Mao of sentiments of culture and Stalin of civil servants and the anyhow owners of whatever you can begin to regret having ever glimpsed my lean and interesting looks cross your dairy cow of a chest the new elected dean of bullshit is wondering exactly how to chime peaks of bare reason with the mean required for acceptance to the aren a of academic debate pints in let’s forget that for the moment endow owners of whatever you can begin to denigrate with the as yet unseen ability to talk shit and then bow away into the silence of the mean inglessly sheepish fuck you’re such a sow aren’t you just tell me where to cow my will and I will yes oh god I’ll pin myself to nothing like you the kow-tow owners of whatever you can begin finish nothing off the sweetly low brow are silent and full of shit with love’s sin and for example pushers of the plough owners of whatever you can begin to weasel from their basic daily round and then recreate as something you own but meanwhile back down on the dirty ground my open-thighed lover is pouting a moan typical fucking typical you groan you like the sight the smell the taste the touch of it? I don’t but then I’m a new crone steadying myself on the limping crutch of me you and my loved ones look the sound of reason is like how a meatless bone blanches when imprisoning Ezra Pound the yanks were right I guess in their now stone aging sense of superior clone culture (though still forbidden now such is the huge cunt between ideas) alone steadying myself on the limping crutch of my sex me: I look at what I’ve found music that has and does not have a tone the intellectually knackered and gowned with only a blunt scout’s knife left to hone their ancient ideas that remain on loan I no longer fathom it all it’s much too reasonable for me though still unknown steadying myself on the limping crutch of my optimistic dumping of Sloan reassurance and the comfortable hutch of suburbia I have now been thrown steadying myself on the limping crutch of nothing whatsoever this exists it’s even the only real starter that’s left to us among the trails and the twists of the plot we’ve lost along with our hats come on sweetheart you know that we’re both bats and lost as good causes and broke as sand meanwhile the sunlight has sent out the cats on a new adventure on the roofs and gutters of the town you stare at your wrists while you toy with the half-dead mice and rats at your feet dog shit fag butts shopping lists stick to the tarmac while the hooting prats in cars surge past like the baseball-capped brats next door next door again you take her hand to lead her out of thought then through the slats on a new adventure on the roofs and visions of this city as dawning mists grow gold then fade as mosquitoes and gnats change shifts and you and I exchange our gists your hands through my hair while your long blonde plaits tickle my chest while the neighbouring flats begin to make noises a muzhmuck band is singing of poetic autocrats on a new adventure on the roofs and chimneys of the sky line already the bats are home and hanging asleep in the grand ruin where a ghost society chats on a new adventure on the roofs and
COME IV Come on she said let’s go it’s fucking dull here come back she said and stay fucking swine sit down and finish your long fucking whine the world’s our oyster so lick me to death I will lie in your allergic arms while Mull igan rises from his cot with a spine as straight as I am I’m yours and you’re mine the world’s our oyster so lick me to death again till your rocking face and limbs lull me back to life I lie straight as a line of unreason as natural as a sign the world’s our oyster so lick me to death you say lemon-head, you’re sweetly saline the world’s our oyster so lick me to death do us part I once said in a dream and it was a mimicry I really meant to lie across the fantastically bent trajectories of light and love and truth stayed unreally unseen as the beam of photons from the sun to the limp spent person typing these lines across the rent trajectories of light and love? and truth? you ask or so you so charmingly seem to beg for information in this Lent of communication and so dent trajectories of light and love and truth this is us right here and on no comment trajectories of light and love and truth