a poem
I plough through obediently,
concerns and pride scattered on the floor
like spilt spoons,
or blood,
or milk.
Somewhere along the line,
(factory, thin blue)
I swallow something,
(pride, bullshit),
and it don't stick in my gullet,
cos I can deep throat you,
even though you touch my vomit reflex,
buried right back.
You make me heave.
There was this one time,
and I thought you wasn't Jesus,
cos you didn't spend forever
telling me what I did wrong.
It passed,
like a hangover,
into memory,
and I swore
I wouldn't do it
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again
again.
I saw Joan of Arc,
peasant woman,
big breasts,
just how you like them,
and then realised she was a peasant,
just how you don't like them,
spluttering their corn-fed
and fat ankled philosophy,
BUT
she was beautiful man,
standing there,
defiant as a Kalashnikov,
indiscriminate and messy,
and that's how you like your Russians,
I think,
maybe,
rolled sweetly and lit and the ends,
no idea really darlin',
you don't give me many these days,
not as a contact sport,
or any sort of gymnastic that I can score
on my volt metre,
although i found the resistance,
marked with a Greek letter
that I didn't understand at first,
until I made a phone call
and looked up the manual.
They don't make a handbook
for this sort of shit do they?
I wish my dad was alive.
I wish I'd killed him anyway.
I'm no good at endings,
some false conceit that
m
e
l
t
s
into mediocrity
doesn't suit me,
I'm too big and lumpy …
lumpen.
I don't know man,
it's just a fucking mystery,
how we got here
and to this.
I didn't have a map,
and what you had you'd scored through
with a million scratches,
skin and paper,
it's the same thing.
I can't find anything without a map.
The compass always points north,
east,
south,
west,
the arrow's not important.
Come get me,
and drag me down the stairs,
with my head bumping off every tread,
knock me
into your unconscious conscious,
split my skull so you can find a way in.
I once said to you
“You won't break my heart”,
and you replied,
“You're already broken,
I'm playing with the pieces”.
