A poem

Here’s the poem I did at Wednesday’s Provokator party. It sounds better than it reads, but here you go:

Progress report

you’re spruced up juiced up
settled in and loosened up
need to make more need to make it fast
need to take more need to move it past
God’s cops pounding down your door
God’s cops got you down on all four
accounts of speeding
accounts of bleeding
hearts dry
eyes open wide each time one died
eyes open wide you hide away
you try to stay in distorted positions
on aborted missions
left to lurk and toss kneejerk
reactions dividing messageboards
into factions anonymous claims
and retractions
a million opinions fleeing scenes
built for small screens
running away to play
catch up catch all catch out cash out
online with well-rehearsed punchlines
to scared to cross fine lines
between interface and interaction
getting closed caption action
between virtual sheets
under loosened cleats
overcaffeinated cheats
bleating about America
bleating around that Bush push
push come to love
rush live to shove
rough life tough life
so lonely
so lonely
so lonely lonely lonely
seeking wife safe from strife
skimming life’s quick knife
and shotgun blasts
raised at half-mast
call off your cast
call off your past
it’s all the same
these sandbox games
in halls of flame
tired and turned off by
cafe-side resolutions
and barstool solutions
cashing out for personal pollution
claiming you’re joking
while you’re stoking out some honey’s hive
cloaking her soaking banks
in rank amateur crank
filed in P filed down in you
while in a town of cold old blues
elbows plowing through crowds
Gordie Howe-ing through clouds
of love and hate and indifference
and shove and mate and tag references
on virgin fences
cutting through your girl’s defences and
howling down her alley
mowing down her valley
bolting down her snake-pit
like you’re Rikki-Tikki-Tavi
a man for all seasons
with two pockets full of reasons
to administer good treason
send her to the moon like Mr. Kramden
Jackie Gleason
you’re beyond survival
hunting for a rival
copping wine and roses
from the natives on arrival
carrying on and switching off
looking down booking off
days for nights spent wondering
what the fuck is going on?
where the fuck did you go wrong?
singing songs of longing and envy
and hanging on banging on
keys and tablets with a stoned palette
of lost time and excuses
setting up trusted ruses
slipping through nooses
of lust-encrusted abuses
and rusted and busted and musty truces
waiting for crusty muses
to drown you in their dusky juices
thrusting deuces
and knuckle-dusting Zeuses
as you step up in a trance…
and wind down your dance
but don’t you ever

your direction is everywhere
look out ahead.

Dec 17, 11:00 (Filed under: Culture, Personal )

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