With bills to pay more bills
Along a stony path of i-o-u-s
The good doctor would say to me:
‘I have a giant conspiracy to make you happy.’
Is it easy to use the spring, the safety catch I mean.
I guess I owe to you a snafu or something:
A pup to stroke like it was new,
A forget-me-not or two.
Hey, Amigo. Yes, Gringo.
You and I we travel in tunnels.
They say this stuff makes you invincible.
So both of us in shadow –
the brain controlling sums alien.
These sums measure the smallest tremble.
Amigo, I notice your hand upon something personal.
And after we are done, I forgot to mention
I’ll be waiting.
Escobar, Jesus is coming.
So show respect.
Assist me, assist The Magnificent.
I am invincible on ground unlimited.
And I sit in tower with cup between industry and dust
organiser of the money shot.
In each face
where once were words now is humming.
He is? Tell me he is.
He is: “es nuestro amigo”
We told you before,
Escobar, Jesus is coming.
Gringo, this wall you said….
Amigo, it’s likely to account for many dead
but who cares / what the heck.
We have this tunnel of ours:
to enter together and lie there flat wanting,
the sweat of coke, the sweat of ambrosia.
It could be quite a party and I shall lack little:
Escobar, I hope you vote for me.
And you one day for me, Gringo,
when America is Mexican.
In what seemed a time interminable
This is how the world ‘beginned’.
Let it describe it –
Had the start and no sin.
If you stumble around darkness,
It can be quite harmless.
In tints of Eden, sketches,
We was completely liquid.
Shadows but happier
Completely innocent. We was.
We hadn’t learnt to spell or think.
To be precise we ‘knowed’ nothing.
Hadn’t put pen to ink
Or even tried to.
Me and Me in conversation.
A big bang,
Quite a picnic.
And what of the budded stem? Gravity?
All things to all them.
Until the sun cames up
And everything was bright.
Even the restroom but not quite, not quite.
And all the loving I could ever have
In one night
Came from the California light.
Your ears, your face,
all soon will be blessed with giant squid.
A vampire in sucking cup,
eight arms and tentacles full of blood.
About being mounted on a stalk,
the suctions, when they get you, almost talk.
In circumference lined with hellish teeth,
the mouth strange parrot-like, something of a leech.
Guard your home against this tick,
It does not share your bread for all to benefit.
A big sponge in the deep,
our squid communes with government
to tell us what to think.
October 1st, 2020.
Not from a Cove or Ovid
There came the news from Cornwall,
But infernal Covid
That life was almost normal
Travelling in shadow
with message ready
the chaos of hell: a battlefield.
Every word explosive,
all sides tremble.
Man, you wouldn’t believe it,
we jumped off, super tourist,
(staying seated naturally)
with a switch to
With noise intimate,
A hissing song
A bloody snap of paper
As butcher bird appears
much more personal.
licked clean, perfect
by the blast.
in the high altitude of killing
only the “wish you were here” missing.