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.

Free eBooks

poetry
modern poetry
Carey Poet
wigan poetry
free ebook

Swearing in Italian

I spend my days wrestling with angels,
gripping and grappling…

Socialists And Turtles (Dream 12)

Savio’s screaming down in the salt lake dust mines of education; Savio’s screamin’ about broken bodies on broken slave-drivin’ wheels/ burn with embarrassment like it were lickin’ at yer heels/ an’ Jesus moans that if the machine weren’t so fuckin’ odious then he...

The Pen Sniggered

And I, Carey, have measured out my life in used needles, and bloody fingerprints on my clothes, and pictures of my own cock on my phone, shrivelled by drink and a growing tumour of pain in the tendons of my calf and such a cancerous lust, and the shaking hand around...