Rain, falling steadily, like moral and ethical standards in politics and society, adds a dismal greyness in a black and white world wherein Jack is a dull boy having stolen the boots of a contingent, familiar enemy; both of who suffered in their industrious net.
THE UNKNOWING DENIZEN
Knee-deep in wood shavings
he dreams of football heroics
Bedsheet-deep in shame
he, as yet, doesn’t understand
he dreams in chocolate:
ignorant and failing to imagine
his life melting away
under a relentless sunshine.
He never ran fast enough
to catch up with the world
and its new-found mechanisation
and its technological fitness regime
Surrounded by play-figures
now strewn about, broken
forming the narrative
of his defeat of success
Spitting cotton-wool out of his eyes
and ears, he can now see
the decay having heard nothing
of the grinding and rotting
he has grown to endure
the humiliating contradiction
of his eating to live tightlipped
unspeaking until spoken to
He’s learned how to read
how to cry, how to touch
and how to be untouched
and how he is young
when he should be old
and old when he should be young
and dead when, to all outward appearances,
he should be alive
However shoddy the tools
however poor the materials
he can be proud
of producing, fashioning nothing
of value before, during and after
often referred to as
his fate of birth.
NO JOKER ALLOWED
I suppose these are your cards on the table
and it means you are gone as I see them clearly
you always held them close to your heart
so you might let me proximally close
though holding all the aces you never bragged
and, to the last, you maintained a poker face
belying your suffering
now, realising your absence
I do not want to destroy the deep sorrow
with a puny apology that drips
from my lips like poison
Death destroyed a brotherhood
more completely than I was capable:
your permanent disappearance accuses
this brother of neglectful selfishness:
My self-absorption caused me
to stop breathing when suffocated
by your genius
Now, inhaling too easily
the fresh air of aloneness
choking on memories
when I spurned chances to tell
you of the depth of my admiration.
WAKE UP! IT’S A BEAUTIFUL MORNING (LARKIN ABOUT)
I can tolerate the tedium of so-called productivity,
I can even take the tiresome twittering of technology enhanced shopping shit
but it’s waiting to die I find grips me with real anxiety.
What will appear to others as my death from unadventure, when the bullet finally reaches my brain, like the cliched Russian roulette, after a loosely termed lifelong struggle began when playing with an idea of myself I touched the trigger of ignorance whilst smoking a gun, and setting in motion a dismal, drawn out trajectory of demise, running counter to the original, natural movement called living.
Who, especially me, could know just how long it would take to die? Even though the degrading orbit was plotted and to some degree measured at a very early age.
Though, then, I didn’t even know I’d killed myself. In fact, I didn’t even know myself to kill, and certainly cculdn’t imagine the possibility that I’d committed existential suicide and effectively quashed any authentic rebellion.
At one point, I thought I’d learned to act; a dramatic dialogue between me and myself, but quickly realised there was no-one watching.
I, learning from a grown-up, practiced dying but misunderstood by wanting to witness my absence, missing the point of absolute oblivion.
Instead, I enacted a tragedy of self-destructive egoism: killing me slowly with history: two subjects at which I’ve less than excelled.
Yet, ignorance at least bestows a talent for killing, at least oneself, however clumsily, however unskilled and ugly a process.
Instead of the courage of living, I, being a coward, chose dying, by gradations of humiliation called days; abacus indulgence that made sure I was isolated, so that the more I learned of me, the greater the distance from life, in a slow re-enactment of birth, and the day to day absurd acts of eating as if intending to live.
Though the greatest thing is a morning and a dusk sky can give me such a concrete fillip..