|Nothing is over, not a thing,|
until time actually ceases.
And as you stand below, waiting down in the street
looking up, open-mouthed,
nothing at all happens.
nothing for 20, 30, 40 seconds,
and when such silent moments exist
in this flickering world
there will be no further kisses, grunts, or gunshots.
turn away, young Damian,
turn aside from life and love
for love is a heavy thing to carry
with its sagging burden of lust,
its well-fed writhing bodies,
its financial speculations.
Many unheard voices, crying out.
mouth the hope, I hope I hope
never to do/see this again
and since the world is round
those fat Chinese make it heavy
living, as they do on the edge,
sucking up noodleas, failing to emigrate,
and so they drag us down, the bastards,
causing climate change.
I write letters to world leaders
about this, about other serious things,
and they respond, ever so
brittle but quite polite, advising me
to fuck off and go away. In Newcastle
the girls are the real problem on weekends
but not as bad as in Dublin. There you need
strong arms & unfailing waves of charm
to herd the howling hags homeward.
Disco, disco, Saturday night!
and so legless are
the lazy lanes of pleasure
that I measure
essence in grams, not ounces.
Saturday, November 02, 2013
Posted by dedalus at 6:12 PM