The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

my wardrobe is concealing things from me
my slippers are slipping
my carpets low self opinion
my fridge is cold towards me
my fans just wanna blow
my mirror comes up with nothing original
my windows unopeness
my music all unheard
my paintings lost somewhere
my kids acting like children
my wife behaves unmanly
my mother no fraternal feelings for me
my brothers never in the sisterhood
my father waiting waiting patiently
my work is play
my words are just words
my sing-speak voice no choice eh joyce?
my relatives no relationship
my friends who needs enemies
my enemies cant be bothered
my festival the moons birthday
my sex sometimes it owns just random gender
my goodness ha ha ha
my garden…..tar and cement
my weight worth itself in fools gold
my teeth and it was all yellow
my eyes grey brigade
my nose red and straighter than “straight”
my mouth like a rivers
my beard of neutron stars
my jawline like a clean sweep
my neck swan rake
my hair wispy whispery and soft
my brain insane in the men-brane
my mind unwinding not minding
my money shot
my clock feels temporary
my time is at least 3 quarters gone
my ears hear ringing humming screaming
my legs were made for walking
my soles mates
my feet not centimetres
my calves bulge like guppies eyes
my knees crack and buckle
my thighs ironed out
my groin groin grone
my loins lions loins sir
my belly abdominable snowman
my chest sunken in the sea
my armless harms
my handy hands, duane
my fingers which keep touching things
my nails are nihilistic
my freckles oh how i used to hate em
my wrinkles olde man look at my life
my chances slim, slim
my hopes hopeless
my dreams zzzzzz
my my
my
*

in 1983 and a half
i was dating a mermaid called marina
i was hooked on a drug called glass
i often had that glazed over look
sometimes i felt shattered
sometimes i felt transparent
i was on a tour in south america
the magic realists tour
cocaine was 5 cents a gram
and you could get a five course meal for a smile
orphans hounded us
they kidnapped our then keyboardist
a czech needed cash
he turned up 3 years later in memphis
wearing a skirt and saying he was malcolm fraser
i was in a hotel room
trying the local glass
it came in clear sheets
it had no odour but a sharp taste
we were playing in the forests
in the glens
down by a racetrack
in the market square
in my bathroom wine flowed from the taps
red wine from one side
white from the other
my feet were screaming
my songs were still in customs
being inspected
the south americans slept all day
i roamed the empty streets
thieving from unattended bazaars
an old lady told my fortune with the cards
she smiled and then cried
and she smiled again
she smacked me round the head
and told me in to fuck off back to montevideo
the orphans caught up with me
joined by a load of urchins
ploogy had a friend called bbbob
who was a albino herm with esp
and a ford aurora
with creamy bucket seats
and a console made of jet and obsidian
the car smelt of sandalwood and indica cigarettes
bbbob picked us up in amazon street
just round the corner from the brazilian bank
where i saved a gazillion pesos by feigning interest
the glass really kicked in
a window of opportunity
the coppers were keen to interview me
let em get in line behind los pop hits i thought
and some tv show on after midnight in rio
where things got real magic realistic sometimes
i’d watched it before
when some shaman with a crow had been on
and some author who claims to change into a jaguar
(or was it a daimler)
the glass was letting it all through
the mermaid had swum a long way to get to our next gig
which was down in some bar in chile
but she was netted by japs for re-surch
an ugly business
they stood on her scales
she was tanked to the gills
holy mackerel!!
the sub-mariners own sweet sister
angled like a perch
with baited breath
flounder about
it really cut her up
and that is why i dont drive mazdas or fiats
in my hotel room
condensation was forming on my glass
i gotta get outta here i called my evil manager
roger u centsless
theres a boat leaves next week says centsless
its bound for joppa……
be on it he said
our last gig at the old brazilian was a failure
ploogy gave away his snare drum and his microphones
and then he gave away his kidneys and other organs
our trombonist was arrested after a scuffle in a nightclub
involving an incan prince inkin’ prints
and some hookers booked by the bookers for the cookers
by hook or by crook but look……
they were all shook up
jimmy jim jim our californian zitherist
who came on for universal chord
fell into some glass on santiago blvde
i can see everything he said
before he got all misty
the tour lost a prophet
the loss was sustained
our record co satan lucifer records
funded by bad corporations
trading in naughty products
well
they bailed us out
after i promised i’d write another
over the mrilky lei
of course
i did
that song was called
rock lil honeybun (cos big daddy gonna gitcha) (pts 1 and 2)
and the rest
as they say
is
hystery

my paintings have gone missing in the fed ex
my intuition said oh sk watch out for yonder slacker
who doth handle your paintings too casually
and behold! the knucklehead has verily gone and
stuck em in a tube which came undone
somewhere south of antartica
please dont let em be lost
oh please dont let em be lost
including the family portrait which i slaved over
and all the rest
keep yer fingers and toes crossed fiendss
not justa the money
(fed ex no re-fundy on original paintings)
but the love n work
oh no dont let it all just disappear
like the “good” version of ripple
erased by a knucklehead in 1991
or my book of poems chucked out
when i went on holidays from public service once
by the way a book of my lyrics n things is on ebay
please spend confidently as some of the proceeds may come to me
theres some unused unseen stuff in there too i guess
i dunno i couldnt afford to buy it thats for sure
but someone said theyd buy and give it back to me
but i dont want it
what use is it to me?
i chuck all my olde schlock out
moving around the world has necessitated this
i was shocked to find the amount of stuff
i had accumulated in my house in rozelle
particularly in the basement
spare renault engines from when i had that stupid floride convertible
sewing machines from russells old girlfriends
silk screening paint long congealed in the buckets
screens of all descriptions
boxes of mouldy cassettes
contents ?
video cassettes
contents?
things people had left
meaning to come and get
but never did
books and magazines
cardboard boxes of church fanmail slowing yellowing
and becoming damp
old shower curtains
old sea grass matting
old bits of rolled up carpet
old pots and pans
dead plants
suitcases full of damp mouldy weird clothes
old pairs of shoes and boots
boxes full of photos all fading away
bits of timber packets of nails
horrible old paintings all mould encrusted
boxes of old music rags full of nasty things
cans of fixative and engine degreaser and whatnot
i first moved to rozelle from canberra in 1979
my house underwent many changes
from dark intense acid den
thru to a light n bright house for very early twillies
with a little deck out the back
and a little house for em to play in
and a modern gas heater
and lovely floorboards
people moved through that house
like fish drifting through coral
russells mates and girlfriends
plus his girlfriends girlfriends
a bunch of whom went to an art college
on our street
which meant the place was always full of
noisy young women smoking bongs and cigs
drinkin coffee
and plotting their rise to the top of the fashion heap
there were always stencils and pencils and cans of paint
developing fluid blueprints patterns scissors full ashtrays
and a general squawking giggling carryon that i fucking abhored
once i came back from a tour
and the girlfriend and her girlfriends had given my clothes away
she was actually wearing one of my shirts
that she’d cut up and sewed stuff onto
she was nonchalant when confronted
i was enraged
she spilt some kinda gluey muck all over my red carpet
meaning a plantpot forever had to stand on that spot
russell n his friends were a lot more casual about the place
than i was
but i always felt like an old dictator at the time
russell and i had lots of silly stoned adventures
involving losing keys and money and locked out broken down
paranoid frightened laughing hysterics
we tried to make opium out of lettuce leaves
we read books from the esoteric book shop
we tried to become magicians or whatever we thought it was
we quoted crowley and regardie and buddha and nick kent
we listened to mighty wah! and freur and deux filles and big star
we saw films at the valhalla
that were mainly about sex or drugs or world war three
or all of the above
we went to lismore and swam in waterfalls
we went to the national park with ploogy or evo
smoked joints sitting on the edge of huge cliffs
we mucked around in the bedroom studio
trying out pieces of new equipment
we had begged borrowed or sold
we made friends with next door neighbours
who were raving pot-heads too
we knocked down the fences between
so we could get into their kitchen easier
where one of the sisters was usually passing around her bong
the 2 houses were an epicentre for hippies
crystal healers
fashion students
musicians
girlfriends
boyfriends
their friends
and their friends
there were lots of impromptu parties
lots of dope smoking and munchies
ie me and russell watching telly at 3 in the morning
walking backwards n forwards to kitchen
for an endless supply of toast and cornflakes
as we smoked on in lounge room
marijuana was endemic to life in those days
it was not questioned
roadies
managers
musicians
guys in record co
agents
punters
everyone smoked dope
it was almost a given
in sydney at least
it was not an exotic illegal thing
it was a “normal” part of life
everybody smoked day and night
of course i was a pot apostle
i turned everyone on
and ranted at the ones who didnt wanna do it
i took incredible stupid risks (in legal terms)
i ate hash and went blind for 3 or 4 hours once
i came home from tour and always someone
at my house
some party some gathering
some couple of layabouts crashing on the couch
calling overseas n using all the hotwater
ploogy hung around
smoking bongs and getting slowly but surely
more wound up
he was always up to some prank
he was an amazing energetic blur in those days
81 82
everybody liked him
everybody didnt like me
i was the old gloomy one
the famous one
but seemingly pissed off
about something all the time
gee
the layabouts thought
i’d be happy if i was him
i suddenly earned some good money too
in comparison to all the other types around but
i felt unhappy and isolated
russell seemed so much more bohemian
and in the thick of things
i didnt like his friends and they didnt like me
but which had come about first ?
everyone shoulda loved me i thought
cos i was a star
but it had the opposite effect
i was embarrassed to play the church at home
or even mention them that much
i should have been enjoying myself but
the other guys in the church started to avoid me
as i was assuming my nasty dictator character
it wasnt really that
it was just that i wanted things done my way
as revealed to me through creative insights
and they wanted to rebel to see what would happen
although i am obviously an ideas man
i also have a nasty antisocial streak
that seems to negate my insights
i am often ignored
there was no right or wrong
everyone was kinda against everyone in a way
yet we were united against the world
go figure

spirit burns on body
using up matter and time
body extinguishes
fire rises like smoke
is this truth too obvious to see?
the answer to every question is take it easy
the answer to all my dilemmas panics anxieties fugues
take it easy
try but dont try too hard
dont concentrate too much
but dont drift off either
approach things differently
change myself deliberately
have courage
let go
see the similarities
the gambler blows on his dice before he rolls
he is putting his will into them
perhaps doesnt mean much really
but over a long period
it will mean beating the guy who doesnt do it
interconnection
there is a way in
knowing when to quit
knowing when to detach
knowing when to bend
and when to lash out
dont think with your stomach
dont think with your genitalia
dont think with your wallet
dont think with your skin and hair
imitate greatness
persist
oh that one word
that word i hated
i knew i had no persistence
no resilience
but now
a cocktail of time addiction yoga predilection
luck and bad luck
fantastic success and abject failure
hotels in rome
and methodone clinics in sydney
handshakes in l.a.
handcuffs in n.y.
lose your father
gain your daughters
argumentative bastard
singular minded
be blasted away
prepare to shed skin
say youre sorry
say youre sorry
forgive as you hope to be forgiven
accept as you hope to be accepted
discipline
the other hated word
the one my olde pommie relatives brandished about
self discipline
i will remain in this cold water
i will do yoga today even though my blah blah hurts
i will paint that painting
i will strive for originality and flare
i will incorporate knowlledge gleaned from everywhere
all my endeavours will reflect my preoccupation with god
i cannot believe in 1950s law and order
i cannot believe in witchtrials and patriotism
i cannot believe in cruel evil acts rationalised by the west
i cannot believe this is all for nothing
i cannot believe youre happy with tv and booze
i cannot believe how i blew it for myself
i cannot believe in jealous old jehovah
some uberstraight uptight old man of a god
how could a cranky old sod like that
have come up with frangipani trees?
i believe in jesus christ who said let love in
i believe nick cave said that too
i believe in krishna who said there was never a time when we were not
i believe in vishnu who said i am and i am not
i believe in buddha who said take it fucking easy
i believe in hieronymous bosch who said
fuck all that brown and grey bullshit
my paintings vibrate, baybee!!!
i believe in vinny van go go who said
i dont care what you think
i KNOW this stuff im doing is fucking hip
i believe in jimi hendrix
who let his fucking fingers do the talking
i believe in those beautiful operas when the singing
takes yer breath away
i believe in the herb and its constant revelations
i believe in not eating dead rotting things
i believe music is divine
i believe science keeps getting it all wrong
i believe there are other worlds
i believe there are other dimensions and places
i believe our western methodology
is but a tiny tiny tiny aspect of a total glorious reality;
many experiences in life have taught me that….
a human being is a walking conundrum
a spirit driving flesh via a mind
almost everything the west wants is bad for it
pizza tv tanks wealth youth meat booze cigs success fame
trophies fun oil facelifts botox gossip-rags make-up
fake-tits microwaves mobile phones underarm deodorants
engines motors systems factories aeroplanes tranqulizers
poker machines bombs guns rockets tazers slaves
jobs in office under fluoros
ah its all bullshit
i keep on moving closer to the source
the self saucing source
the big banger
numero uno
the nazarene
the golden land of a trillion buddhas
the mayans crystal skulls
the egyptians hieroglyphic depictions
the memories of lemuria which persist
statues of ganesha next door in nepalis house
every morning the old lady in her sari
every dusk
she burns her sweet incense to her gods
ganesha and buddha
buddha who proclaimed an independence of gods
now a god himself
she offers incense to her gods
she thinks of them
she honours them in her heart
she connects with the absolute reality behind the statues
she has her rituals
she has her remembrance
she has her communion
in a garden laden with white and red flowers
the old lady doth verily talk and walk with god
maybe thats just a metaphor
maybe thats the truth but not in a literal sense
maybe its deep without a meaning
ok
i gotta go to “work” now
bye

tiny flowers
and other small vegetal parts
were suspended in the sea
dancing between the waves and the cream coloured sand
all moving with the motion of the ocean
little bits of leaves and seaweed all playing their parts
everything exactly where it should be
doing as it must
transparent fish glide through the plant matter
and golden particles
the soft sun so gently penetrates the shallow waters
its fingers enter the sea to warm her slowly
sun rays
sea rays
the morning is hallowed holy
it stretches on forever in all in both directions
engulfing every other feb 14
the water of the sea is like marine green glass
she reflects the sun in her warm dazzle
above the zephyrs play
bringing the scent of musk and lavender and attar
bringing the words of song and prayer and oath
bringing the touch of mist and pine and snow
and the women sing
and the women sing
and the women sing
they knockout the inevitable greek chorus
about loves victories over men
the destiny of the great conquerors and the vanquished
the fops in their tat
the muscle boys in arenas with scars
all knocked out by love
the mighty kings
but its just to put things in perspective
because the morning is still intact
a little cloudy but still very warm i guess
and the lovely one is bathing in the sea
in the sea from where she was born whole
like a painting
like love personified then deified
moving with such graceful grace
moving through the water
so easily so smoothly
naked and china white
long hair with glints of all colours
small breasts so delicate and smooth like fruit
your hips flare out as if designed by a artist
your mysterious loins concealed by the waves
your strong white back
as you swim away
away away away
and the women sing a second chorus
about sunsets colour of blood
mornings sobering remorse
worlds deep grief
moons old sorrow
and the zephyrs play
beings in the sky celebrate
dropping more flowers and granting any wishes
everyone loves love
and the absolute mistress of love
demanding the golden apple above wisdom and power
for how many kings look for wise or powerful queens…?
they all seek love love love
oh ho ha ha see love evaporate
see love get used up
see love run out and tossed aside
see love a shadow of its former self
see love a burnt acrid powdery residue
see love a slimy rubber
see love a distant blur
see love a mad blot
see love a fading memory
you see love temporary fickle monstrous lustful engorged
love battered and butchering triumphant and torn
but not here on loves strand
in a honeymoon haze
the lovely one dips and dabbles in the aquamarine scene
of sky and sea
cloudy and warm
a soft lovely light
cythera her home
in the arms of the waters
flowers all falling softly like ashes
the gods of the winds and their female companions
hair streaming back as they adore in full flight
only the most caressing gentle warmest warm breezes
colourful fish swim around her shapely ankles and toes
her tatoos of fish and stars and flowers
her wonderful small bruises
all appear to worship love
love love love
loves day
day of love
all day
everyday
loveday
everylove
love every day
and
then
love every day

not much time
off to studio soon
walk thru rain listening to hendrix on way to pool
water same temp as air 23 degrees c
feel like your flying
fierce wind blowing drops away from my face
rain falls i swim on
a long slow lazy swim
my mind switches off
occaisional memories flash on n off
the bottom of pool covered in white sand
the green water sloshes around
up n down i go
my body synchs up
breathing effortlessly
the body works like a machine
i try to perfect my strokes
the sauna is hot
i watch my sweat drip from my forehead
and splash on the wood
we are almost all water
i do my chi gong in the rain
i catch sight of myself in a window
one minute i think i look good
next minute i think i look bad
my opinion of myself in all things
constantly bouncing between two poles
either im the bees knees
or im something useless
it keeps me on my toes
im also self obssessed as you may easily see
no matter what i fucking write
someone will jump on n criticize it
fact fiction opinion memory drug veg whatever
there is that carping complaining comment
gee maybe im paranoid but it sometimes seems like the same guy
someone with a grudge against me
cos i didnt behave how i was s’posed to
you know it wouldnt be too hard to figure out, would it?
just so ya dont think anonymous fools me
oh
and did you know that i gotta cracked program
that identifies every anon to me
muse: is that true?
you bet yer sweet bippy it is
everything is possible these days
been working on the church
singing n writing words
ah i dont wanna demystify it for ya
had a butterscotch muffin
deffo not vegan but i had severe munchies
drinking too much berry v
but gee i love guarana
ooh it suits my system dont it
yes
i too was a fan of roy s
all that jazz…..hmmm
dr benbow in nakey lunch etc
its sad knowing hes gone
a message to my dear friend suzanne
in far flung djakarta (or however they spell it)
i drove your car yesterday
tim jumped in and ate a quiche
and tiny little flakes of pastry fell thru the air
decorating the pristine black interior
already littered with one empty fiji bottle
and one empty v can
and (shock) a chocky wrapper
(vegan chocky)
i felt if james could see it he would explode
but will vacky in time for your return
yes gigs are on the horizon for me me me
early april in melb
ditto for syd
a dvd launch
gee does that mean davidson gets his own guest list?
i dunno
you get a free dvd by coming to gig
(but the entry fee is steeper)
i tell ya
im gonna play for a longtime
im slimmer and funnier and have more charisma than i used to
muse : oh thats a vulgar declaration killerbee
come and see me
get a dvd
i can kiss your hands and shake your baby
you can anointeth me in precious cash
or swipe me with yer card
i tell ya one thing
im gonna be doing some different songs
can i talk martin kennedy to coming along in melbo?
ooh i hope so….
can i get polly dog doodell to mix me?
oooh i hope so
what else?
thats enough for now
gonna pick tim up somewhere
have work to do
cant sit here all day
in stormy north bondi
rabbitting on to you
cmon mofo
bring on your niggly little barbs
and we all know who you are….
sk

things not going that great actually
gave a wrong digit in sequence
to someone paying me and money has gone missing
damn it!
a frugal week at chez k for all n sundry
seem to be forgetful and preoccupied
moving in and out of conflict
family hit by coffs n colds
today working on church record
(drumroll)
round at tims studio
whats it like?
wouldnt you like to know
sing sing sing
write words
talk n argue
harmonize
buy lunch
soy hot chocky please
work work
hey tim
what happens if i plug this in here…….?
KABOOM!
duh…..sorry!

sitting up a tree tree tree
talking to my bird
caw caw caw she says
i says this and that
i’m hungry and cold and wet
as per bloody muddy usual
cold as a corpse
hungry as a horse
wet as a wicked old toad
i plot i plan i dodge the man
men at arms
men wander around through the green trees
i’m hatching a scheme
cooking up a little dreamy dream
one fell foul swoop
magic and revenge
then i feel a pain
a sharp pain in my chest
oh no
crow is looking at me all wrong
i see her cawing but i hear nothing
its funny i thought that arrow would have hurt me more
crow is up and fluttering about
another arrow flies through the tree
and another
and another
they go by so slow
slowly floating by
fly away now you stupid crow
quickly now
i see another arrow travelling real slow
i see its fletching
the black feathers guiding it home
the thought occurs to me
they have used a crows feathers
and it makes me sad
as i sit up in my branch
watching arrows go by silently
slowly
an arrow protruding from my chest
a miracle
it causes me no pain anymore
crow flapping about like a fool
a very disobedient bird
i tell her to go go go away
im feeling very faint and tired now
fly away old girl i say or seem to think i say
and an arrow hits her
and she tumbles out of the tree
i let go and i fall
fall fall falling fell
crash
i see myself crash
a dirty old heap
the soldiers poke at me and move on
i suppose i’m dead
where is crow i think
silly crow she never listened
fast?
i hear my name
fast?
i turn around
fast the magician…..?
a black woman
a beautiful black woman
fast….is that you? she asks
and who might you be ? i ask not even surprised
easy ! she says
easy? i says
easy…….i am crow….
no!
seems so….shall we go?
yeah…..lets blow!

fin

run away run away run away
always running away
those ugly soldiers
stupid brutal creatures
lords and lieges battles and sieges
hack and crack and lord and sword
arrow spear bolt and jolt
dead kings
usurpers
crowned prince
intrigue
palace full of malice
they needed me then crow
before i met you darling bird
before i lost my gold
before i was old and out in the cold
that damned worm
killing killing burning returning
eating sleeping stinking flying
the prince was just a boy…
are you listening to me now, crow?
why you rude bird, you are ignoring me
oh the bloody rotteness of it all
ignored by a damned crow….
its bloody well come to this has it?
well in those days in those days
i had a lovely familiar
yes i thought that’d make you listen crow
you black devil bird
yes oh yes i had a love lovely familiar
oh you jealous old thing crow
ha ha dont peck me now
STOP ! that hurted me!
well i know you dont like to hear about owl
i told you crow dont you dare peck me again…..!
oh my poor owl….
roasted and eaten by that worm
she could spot a little mouse
high in the sky
so high we could hardly fly
oh her deep dark eyes, crow
oh she makes you seem almost blind, crow
now, crow, see what you did with your claws to my arm
oh the harm youve done to my arm…
how dare you treat me so you lowly thing
youre just an old black bag of bones
no decent wizards’d have you you know
no no no
ha ha ha crow
oh im so sorry my sweet my little birdy girl
i didnt mean to say those things
we’re all we’ve got, girl
we got to be nice to one another
a fine to-do a fine to-do
up a tree talking to a bird
am i really mad i wonder
maybe says the tree…dont break me branches
am i really quite done?
no no says my little one
oh no says crow
you’ll go and go and go…
you really think so crow?
crow goes: i dont know….
but little blackbird
you’d never work for another wizard would you?
she caws no no
but i can see shes thinking about that bastard warlock of grimsby
how dare you think of that imposter formerly of gloucester
before that cockfosters….
how dare you daydream of that rascal and rogue Toadfinger
that insipid and tepid druid
that spell-less smelly fraud and fellow
that yellow bellied forkbearded fuck-knuckled fool
spawn of a hag and an idiot ogre
not even a conjuror… not even a
WHAT?
how dare you caw that, crow?
how dare you caw that to me
up a tree
surrounded by the enemy?
oh how can you bear to break my old heart so, bird?
Toadfinger did not summon the storm
that quenched the worms fire…
that was me crow
or maybe just a seasonal shower
who knows it was mars or maybe novembre…
oh crow how can you believe these things?
shhh crow shhhh!
i dont want them soldiers finding us up this tree
what a pickle! what a set-to! what a bloody turn-up for the books!
crow cant you fly thereover…?
i can spy a little nest yonder in that leafy tree
do you think that there could be any little eggies for our breakfast..?
not now crow…wait till the soldiers go
no you really dont know anything do you crow
yes i mean except fly
and yes you can see far better than me
yes you do find things before theyre lost, mrs crow
look all right
you are a most useful creature
but please dont talk about Toadfinger in my company
save it for your friends the vulture and fox
how can you talk about the man who stole my life and
took my road and not expect me to explode?
damned toadfaced fool
damned frog features
damned obvious magic
damned idiots who think it was him did worm in
damned worm damned dragon
damned girlish prince the little prick
damned villainous villagers
oh they will all stew you stupid lot
oh crow dont worry bout the soldiers now
fly to that cosy nest and pluck me a little blue egg i can suck
magic doesnt happen on an empty stomach you know
how dare you offer me grubs from the disgusting soil?
i am a man
i cannot eat grubs or lizards or the hornets gizzards
fetch me an egg
must i beggy beg beg?
what?
the nest is bare?
how many grubs
then are there?
why then crow
you must share!
only 3?
ha one for you
and
two for me

finally the light
sickly grey dawn
hungry and sick
as usual as usual
bones grind sinews crack bad back
numb and sad
old and mad
struggle struggle
no sleep no rest
no inn no guest
sucking mud biting flea
bad blood evil me
crow flies back
out of the grey sky
wheeling wheeling
in elegant arcs
scavenger crow like a bird of prey
any news of witch?
anything likely to make me rich?
no no no caws crow
trouble coming this way that way
which way?
all ways
fires and floods and famines and spears
war and plagues for hundred years
what to do what to do
straggle struggle
juggle things
everything up in the air
bubbles come up in lake
what monster stirs?
oh this lake makes me ache and ache
where are the gardens and domes i truly deserve
the feasts at least
the harnessed beasts
devils released
damned crow bringer of bad news
where are my shoes?
holes in soles and souls unholy
damn damp
wheres witch?
which witch?
the tricky witch
the one with the hare
you have the hare crow
and i’ll have the witch
yes crow we can share
but how to get there
anywhere but here
i dont like here
i dont like now
i dont like this
not at all
must begin i suppose
on my toes
walky walky walky
i should be carried
or married to a queen
i never should have tarried in the tavern
or in the cavern
where i entered the earth
crow come here
sit close by head
on my shoulders
tell me bout the soldiers
with their spears and their jeers
march through marsh
the tramps a’tramping
drums and pipes
blast it all crow
must i be bothered to flee?
oh a horrible dawn you are
a bad start to a bad day
lost and alone
except for little crow
my black wand
my old bones
a spell
a spell
i need a spell
hmmm let me think…
oh well…….