Monday 20 January 2014

Twelve-dimensional Pretence Got Us Sectioned






The voices said within our head,
Sometimes you’re not meant to know,
Sometimes it don’t matter,
You don’t need to understand,
…Ess, em, pee, tee, ee…
The voices seemed to chatter.

all those white spaces
with the need to be stabbed
Murder the Blank
for they are plain and mild
like teddy bear’s heart
without love of a child
an empty jar
without a wasp,
mark it down
because
because
today  is The Day
the Sweet Lord takes these chains from our feet,
tomorrow is The Day
our Sweet Lord and we shall meet

they wanted radical
radical we gave
and they sectioned us
the faecally brave
and considered us
morally depraved
or perhaps just a little too
grave
grave where will us go when he comes
the voices asked
the fiend behind the fiend
the fiend behind the -
how will us breathe when it turns
when the wind changes
and the storm blows in
The voices in our head grave

and we were strong
Wrong!
the urge only made us desperate
despair
and long
for what we couldn’t have
or what wasn't there
or what we couldn't get
or what was already lost
what was hopeless
or came
at too high a cost

we made ourselves victims
of habitual cynicisms

I heard from the distance
in the public bar
Jist because Eh’m hung like a doankey
disnae mean Eh hae tae be a porn star

it had been so long,
we'd forgotten how
our kids were hungry
our wife was a cow
forgotten what was inside us
at least that was said by the half-full
well at least there is something
replied the fool
we can never forget
nothing fills us
no substance within
not even dust
no dessert moon
no darting swallow
no daffodils
just hollow
hollow

The voices compared us,
To the insatiable bottle,
Which can only be filled
By the wasps at full throttle.

she gave them a pawn shop
in the sky
we gave them the opportunity
to die
die
ungrateful children
side by side
as they turned to climb
the messy drive
which led
to the droning
communal hive

and all the while their faces gazed
with appropriate disdain
upon our grossness
put there
by sufferable pain

clinically-arranged
neutrally-themed
modern-minimalist existence
occupied our list
as it occupied our past
as it will occupy our present
as it will occupy our Last

sat in this wheelchair
with these crutches
staring at concrete
rabbit hutches

our work
it flamed like a succubus
for no-one to see
except us
except us
except me
except me

keep it that way
and we’ll get a proper job
keep our head down
earn a few bob
make the blank stare
aye
the blank stare
and make a few bob
earn our fare
and never be sectioned again
we swear
and never be sectioned again.







No comments:

Post a Comment