Street Life
Real people knock
On your door
From time to time
Hold hands
Drink together
Become friends
Familiars
Lovers
All this terrible involvement
All these players
It doesn’t take much time
Before you realize
They are only out there
To kill
To humiliate
To diminish
To bring down
There’s so many people out there
As I stand in my living room in the morning
Scratching my balls
Feeling empty and meaningless
Like so many times before
They are enslaved
Angry
Spinning in shells
Learning hatred
And passing it on like
Antibiotics
The drivers want to pass you
The pigs want to imprison you
The women want to hurt you
The doctors want you wounded
The lawyers want you in trouble
The bosses want you jobless
And your best friend
Wants to fuck your wife
The hand reaches in
Rips the flower apart
Dragging all the roots
While the others
Try to find a meaning
Amongst the knives.
There Was Once A Time
Broken mirror pieces on the sink
Your blood running runlets
Amongst them;
Your fist wounded five times;
A small piece of the mirror
Jabbed into the knuckles
The snow begins to fall
Silently
And you remember her
Coming in your house
Her presence lighting up
The dark corners
Bringing feeling into the vacancy
Of your heart
She was so lovely
Wasn’t she?
And you were so unlovely
You’d be grateful for a simple touch
Or look
Let alone the glorious dance
Under the sheets
You were both young
But you didn’t look like it at all
In those beautiful nights
With the windows open
As the air entered the room
Like a slick burglar
And the curtains danced
Like Turkish striptease girls
with a yearning to entertain you
And that wonderful way
She took the cigarette out of your
lips
As you lied there acting cool
To kiss you
With her tongue in your mouth
Like a light in the fog
And you know now
That you were once
Very much
Deeply in love
With that face reflected on
What’s left of the mirror
Staring back in disappointment
Weighing you
As if trying to find signs
Of an insanity
That would justify
Some of all the terrible
Waste that has passed
And of all the waste
that will most surely
Follow.
Underground Flowers
I would pretty much
Prefer a good view
When I die
Something
Like a sunrise over
Mountains
Or better yet
A sundown
Over sea
Something good
And beautiful
And far away
Something
That has nothing
To do
With humans
A good symphony
Is pleasant
In a night with
A subtle darkness
But it is even more so
When shared
With a naked female
Resting on the bed
Next to you
Breathing love
In and out
Of courteous lungs
You know
It all leads to
The nothingness
But that doesn’t mean
That the transcendence
Doesn’t have to have
Poetry in it
Maybe a tear on the cheek
As you watch the orange ball
Of the sun
Eulogizing the day
Like a precious medallion
Dipped into the sea
Somewhere in the horizon
You cannot become
The best
Or the most terrible
But it matters little
Life will go on
After you’re gone
The dogs will keep pissing on the same trees
The armies will march for different reasons
The chaos needs little excuse
To break loose
And the lovers
Will always wait
For those coveted words
Of kindness
It will matter little
To the corpses
Swarming the dirt
Like underground flowers
We will not
Be able to
Root for your efforts then.
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