out in the woods by myself
I follow footprints which are someone else’s.
no-one knows where I am.
nobody understands just what I’m doing.
I don’t follow to be like the others;
I follow to see where they’re going.
then I scamper off in my own direction
leaving them lost to their own devices.
Archive for October, 1990
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It rains
I stand
In a field
By myself
Me and mud
In my toes
Sunk grass
Ankle deep
Silent mirth
Big smile
Oh yeah
Oh god.
I sit in the corner, brooding.
people look once then look away quickly.
no-one sits by me.
I am kept company by a pepper shaker.
everyone wonders what drug I am on,
brooding with my chin on my forearms,
glaring at the fake wood table.
under beetled brows I’ve got orange eyes.
one hand toys with the paper napkin
and I consider spilling the silverware to the ground.
I pick a number, then slide sideways
and start counting the pieces of gum
on the bottom of the table.
laying face down on my bed
hoping for an earthquake
dreaming of what’s going on
on the floors beneath me:
a young lady undressing,
a piano playing below that,
worms tunneling under
the creaky foundation;
small roots in the hard dirt,
then maybe rock and water,
occasionally pockets of other stuff.
deeper and deeper, it’s hot
and the earth starts to melt.
so I wake up and turn over
to stare at my ceiling.
Writhing around like a worm with its tail cut off
Shivers galloping through my spine
My eyes cross and bang together
Retinal images frolic around me
Knees wobbly, rubberbandingly dancing
I love you but please
Don’t blow in my ear again!
Laura and the Magic Rollerskates
Posted: October 25, 1990 in PoetryTags: Laura, Red, Rollerskates, Thomas Hardy
Waugh! rollerskates [Laura] make my day!
whether skating through Hardy’s provincial heath
sometimes slogging/sometimes out of breath
or listen to you write dizzily in the grass
rollerskating inkwards in and out of class
Don’t play too fast for me
all I’ll see
is red hair and a smile.
I ran and ran. Barefoot and naked from that
House I ran through alleyways I don’t remember
But in the scariest corners of opiate dreams.
The horror that grew and relentlessly
Followed me from that accursed house
Blacked out the stars in the midnight sky;
Ink spilling across the heavens. My
Feet flayed by flinders of stone, my
Breath ragged and acidic with smog,
The darkness roiling turbulent
Seemed welcome and horrifying.
Collapsing on the wet grass of the
Public park I shivered for the cold
And the anticipation of being
Filed away in another straitjacket.
the Flower Phantom is dead
ever since Nini left.
What use have ghosts
when they’ve no-one to haunt?
I wish I was a dinosaur
big and tall with a fearsome roar
maybe on leathery wings I’d soar
if only I was a dinosaur.
–
as long as several city blocks,
buildings crumble as I walk.
I bet I’d never ever be bored
if I was a big old dinosaur.
–
big horns and teeth and pointy spikes
are better than dolls and toys and bikes
I might even do all my chores
if I could be a dinosaur.
How do you know?
I know you don’t;
Shut up.
Is she looking?
She got upset,
She passed it off
With smiles and insults,
Playfully barbed with seriousness.
I know because she asked
You do not
Conjecture
Assumption.
Somehow, I don’t think so.
I’m just waiting for it to rain
So I can caper around in the puddles
Holding my hands out like an aeroplane
To rinse and spin dry my troubles.
II
Searching the sky for forked lightning
Cowering under the thunder
Soaked with excitement; it’s frightening
Taste the damp, earthy smell of wonder.
Who can stand
Just lying awake at night
Waiting for sleep
To come dust your eyelids
With secret sand
Glittering and feather light
Weighted to keep
Them down without skids.
My days are numbered
In the belly of the beast
Floating paper boats
On a sea of stomach acid
Journey to the center of the earth
I encounter dinosaurs
Huge and big gulping
7-11 insatiation
Rod / Staff / Wand
Berzerk.
10/14/90
sneezes are great:
-big spittle cloud
-loss of snot blockages
-relief of building pressure
-removal of inability to breathe
-explosive tension release
-loud
-funny
-good for your soul.
gorilla man
lopes about the streets.
I look into your windows,
just a shadow to you,
looking around the corner.
I see what you do.
I grin in the darkness.
I gibber sadly at the moon.
The cheery reassurance of a cup of hot chocolate
Can only be topped by the whipped cream on to of it.
wandering the streets at night
is a joy I haven’t had
in a long time for a lack of it.
swimming from streetlight pool
to pool, feeling the cold
of the deep darkness between,
tiptoeing past crouched cars
and predator houses, slinking
down alleys feeling extremely wary,
yet conscious that I own all of them.
Tension. Pressure.
Little scurrying demons
Crawling around my mental ductwork.
Work I can’t.
Not now. They’re everywhere
Pipes, vents, ducts, corridors.
Haunts of the hordelings
Marathons of minute monstrosities
Racing through out
Out! Out!
cankersores suck gigantic dick
little rock pain gouge
easily jarred into angry gnawing
tongue testing irritability limits
grumble grumble bitch
more Certs™, minty bombs
make the bacteria go away
sore grubby hotspots rotting
food parcel particles old
festering mouth wounds
no bandaid relief
oral land mine punjii sticks
under-the-tongue blister
jiggling pus sacs
brush your teeth with a razor blade
kind of pain.
Michael is stuck in his own little world
others can only look in through the bars
like a curious ape that scientists can’t explain.
I throw gorilla chips at you.
– – –
if I don’t have it in my own little world,
I will make it or dream it up somehow.
incomprehensible, yes; to me this is magical.
you ask me what I do and I will reply
that Michael is diligently learning to fly.
– – –
my place is where I sing;
I can make noise and it is beautiful music.
I can howl at the moon and the beasties will answer.
art makes no sense and that is its perfection;
can you do this? this is being stuck in my own little world,
so who are you to look through the bars?
– – –
sometimes lonely mike, sometimes tragic Michael.
nobody here to impress but myself, and to be bored with oneself
is to give up and die.
many other things I sing of…
lovely and cool, pink and minty stuff,
quell my queasing stomach rough.
calm the bilish oceanic waves
which slosh within gastronomic caves.
unleash thy pow’rful soothing mood
upon my restless and acerbic food;
bestill the tides which yaw and heave
it is in you that I trust and believe.
10/1/90
the quiet sound
of the rain dancing
tiny pirouettes
out on the sidewalk
is the only noise
which filters through
into my room
tonight;
no rumbling thunder
no bright lightning,
just the not unpleasant sound
of the rain falling,
crystalline clean
precipitation;
the rain comes and goes
tonight, but
in the morning I might find
a few puddles here and there.
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