Working Still Life Classes

by Poetry

going mad now / gone already;
                controllable, man-ageable madness; left
drinking right less &
smoking right less &
barely thinking at all; work all day
devoid of liberties & freedoms & free of thoughts of
                   liberties & freedoms;

                                                                                gone

temporary burning, speed infections – spitting down narrow streets too fast & too much coffee without God & cigarettes; I sleep quickly &
wake exhausted.

                                perhaps a little distant now
                                perhaps a little lost or
                                                                losing something –
                not sure what.

                                I’d show my work as is to people
I know – don’t want to;
                I don’t want my depressions taken
from me – taken too seriously;
                rather fodder for endless jokes &
no hatreds revealed
                but rage & rats cause bitter smiles to blossom
into joyous things;

I don’t want to be seen every day imp-ortant,
I think,
to keep me small, confined in dark places
where only I can see
& confess
& let me out fractured to jack off ego

                glad no adverts bear my name; careful about that –
no advertising,
or sharing,
no liking
or subscribing
to anything – like that’s the point

idle thoughts & mad
desires – the same nothing
not worth
the time of universes

live a quieter universe,
live a secretive universe &
let the celestial body
lonely in bars & pubs
(like these) &
offices & cafes where
I’ll always find whiskey in my coffee
or rum, when I’m desperate

                glad now my depressions are meta tags
& nothing more – living on wordpress sites
across the world – callipers to drag
foreign eyes to hear
exhausted notes I play.

I’m sorry for being
so unhappy all the time.

sorry all the noises I make &
all the tunes I play
are so ugly.

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Henry David’s Haven

Dare I dare, to watch the sun break open against these alien, icy shores? To watch it, rudely, shoulder aside the mist, from those distant, ice-shrouded moors; to push the smog of industry, into the alleyways of these bloody streets? To encompass these footsteps of...

Poster-Painted Gold

Hurray for barely comprehensible gibberish using the layout of poetry! I think it’s time, time to butcher loyalty. Time to murder and, in that murder, create. To take these things which have seen me at my worst and waste them, until their watchfulness abates. To pull...

Loch Earn

had I known, then? arriving
the breeze come burning
& guiding mighty storms from seas
I knew come shuddering drugs
& clenched the teeth to bite
the sleeping waters

The Harrying Of The North?

This is a 'poem' that I've been working on for a while. I started it after walking into work one morning. (At least this one isn't bus-bound poetry!) Enjoy. (this is a conscious decision) That my toes trace uneven oceans of stone, and skip by broken islands of...