Sunday, 26 April 2009

Goo Morning Kerouac

When I think of you I always cry,
Feel something speak in my spine
A shudder of darkness in the bones
Tears of heartbreak and hope condensed
A breeze in the flesh that hurts
A lapse in the distractions
How do I organise this panic?
This criminal noise that dements
The organs of love, dehydrates
The soul?

I feel close to you most
When I have a crooked neck
Waking up on some random couch
With blood on my face and fur on my tongue
And weird women shouting piously in
The dregs of a dream,
I can hear you in the birds’ songs
Those short bursts of thoughtless haiku
That echo like the grey cloud
Quiet giant alien minds that spread
Their foam over the complex chaos and seem to laugh.

I feel you now
As my radar eyes go inward
And seek truth by turning inside out
The concept of meaning
The music of the mind’s story
That let all these riotous impatient
Sex driven angry ambitions
Writhe together in a shameful mud,
The blood of the subconscious
Like an orgy of rodents
Parasite ideas feeding on a flood

I feel you now
At my breakfast poison
Overloaded and undernourished
Darting between piety and profane chocolate hopes
Searching for the sweetness of the right words
To capture this lighting moment in consciousness
Trying to bottle the sunlight
And taste the morning’s salty fresh whisper
Trying for all it’s worth and trying some more
Hungry for light, a bible to sing from
Some escape from all this rattling sarcasm
Something to tonic the way the city burns.

I feel you now in this tragic flourish
Your Buddha eyes closed
Hiding a catholic candle-lit beauty
A spotless beauty, breathless spirit
You who knocked through walls
Who broke down atoms to their gassy facts
Who burned through skies roaring wolf like
And kissed everything furiously
And photographed infinity between your words.

I feel you now Jack Kerouac
I too am dishevelled
I too am sacred and sun-struck
I too feel god in the screech of the street
In the black oily blood of the road
And see her in the dead eyes of old men
Hear it in the voices of drunken idols
Gasping for the answers.
I too am drunk on this insignificance.

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