IT’S A LIE BUT IT FEELS REAL:
Drowns in belief, floats in faith on an early one, streets choked
in mist – Brigadoon. How you feeling? Wrong trainers on cold turkey
feet, numb from lack of groove but bang on time, civi street.
Life is sweet, life is great, keep chanting ‘tll you believe. Win
the weekend. Win everything. Sail clean between the grand facades
of legends. Don’t feel small, it’s all for you.
The self, the voice, the chasm that yawns beneath. Have a good one.
See you soon, dressed as a toyshop sailor selling boat rides to
tourists. Keep the change, keep moving. This is the show, to eat in
or go, a black bag in each fist.
EVERYTHING TASTES OF FISH BUT I’M OK THIS WAY UP:
Memories of good times haunt good, hurt good, remembering the
best time. Smart water, high water, hot water, skinny water.
Freshly squeezed passion, better than never. Instant free-fall,
wake-up-call, ping! Stay cool, steaming, slow walk in from the
street, heels clicking, cooking, smoking. Heads turn, all the boys
looking. Perfume of a breakdown on a road at the edge of night.
Here it comes, a different sun, rising over the horizon.
Take a picture easily forgotten.
Hi, how are you?
Hide your mouth behind your hand when you’re yawning.
Savoy Brown – ‘Train to Nowhere‘
Woke at 3:30 busy words running loose inside my head.
Half finished sentences colliding, colluding, tormenting me every
time I roll & try to sleep. Got up, showered, to the World Service.
Took a camera for a walk in cool clean air, alone & happy in that
special place before the sun. Drove into town at the usual time to
find it running on skeleton staff, empty, a film set out of season,
spaghetti western, all the parking spaces free. Lone men looking like
school boys in washed out summer shorts sixteen seasons out of date.
I catch them picking turds out of the grass, one hand on the leash of
a small dog, the other in a small blue bag. Each one glances as I pass
offering a deal, a pact between males, never to reveal the fragile
landscape I see behind their eyes.
There’s a new girl serving at the cafe, no music, no mood, no smile,
no welcome recognition, no sandwich refrigerator illumination,
no breakfast club. Her face is switched off as she interrogates me.
And do I want milk with that & honey or jam, & will I be taking it
away or eating in? I’m undressed, exposed, apologetic, dirty.
The usual suspects don’t arrive to collect their orders, don’t hit
their marks or sing their greetings, exchanging customary pleasantries,
teaching me the etiquette of citizenship. Nothing is the same,
everything is wrong, a town stumbled upon with it’s trousers down
behind the bushes. Only the cafe looks familiar enough, nut cold &
exposing it’s bones.
A few stragglers on the street looking dazed as I leave, glance
in passing at my appearance in jacket & jeans, trying to look like
I’m the only one here on legitimate business.
MEDITATION ON A COOL BREEZE:
Did you get the message?
Did you make a connection?
Did you get in late last night?
Do you remember?
The leaving, running for rendezvous with…….somewhere else,
always on the move.
Home, two spoons, a knife & a fork in a silent way.
The white, the glass, the waiting search, waking from a bad dream
& the one next door. The same piano playing random melodies, half
remembered, almost familiar, leaving through a door at the back of
the room. Shadow light legs & thrills, thinking about a train &
the next place. Bullet & the Mountain sky, head in the clouds.
“Did you see it this time?”
“Naa, it was chuckin’ it”
Rhythm of stripes
Rhythm of walking
Rhythm of a mouth not speaking
Rhythm of spoon
Of look-around, cruising
Rhythm of voices in a crowd
Rhythm of badge
Rhythm of name
Rhythm of too much fashion
Rhythm of trying too hard
Rhythm of easy
Rhythm of surfing the wave
Rhythm of a light in the dark
Rhythm of a hand reaching out
Rhythm of street
Of feet, passing
Rhythm of everybody going somewhere, nowhere, anywhere
Rhythm of a turning page
Rhythm of hand touching face
Rhythm of alarm calls
Wake up calls
Rhythm of remembering
Rhythm of time, inevitable
Rhythm of yesterday, forgotten
Rhythm of now, kiss my eyes
Rhythm of an old smile
A new smile
Any kind of smile
Rhythm of day of living
Fingers tapping, sending messages
Rhythm of tiny acts of kindness
Did you guess remote controlled lights concealed within balloons?