spring arrives in shivers n blusters
here on the island in the sea
this isle is full of noises
the screeching of small things in the canopy
the parrots chatter all the lazy day
the river winding away
i am becalmed in my head
i have run aground on some stupid reef
i stare out to sea for a ship that can never arrive
the white englishman against the blue sky
the black crab against the rock
the yellow sand against the deep sea
i can neither sleep nor stay awake
all my body seems to gently ache
and my dreams torment me with hopeless struggles
i shoot into the blackness
i fight off the pillows in the night
the afternoons try to secede greedily
the afternoons which refuse to end
leaving me weakened and exhausted
my brittle nerves all dangled n jangling
and apprehending everything into saturation
i do feeble deals with myself….
if only this
or
if only that
i mutter to myself
and i envy distant people in faraway times
and i daydream about a solid darkness
that warmly enfolds me
and banishes the hounds that dog me doggedly
my shoulders sag under the weight of my heavy dead head
so full of lonely thoughts and confused tourists
so empty now of joy or peace
anger wells up in a dry compassionless desert
everything i see or hear stings my dry cold skin
i must be finally turning into a snake
i lie in the sun
and it only makes me dizzy
so i stagger into the briny ocean
which shocks me senseless
the weather suddenly changes again
the clouds race across the sky
a warm wind starts to breathe
respiring relentless gusts of sand and grit
i blink and cannot think
my voice is cracked and discoloured
my songs have faded
my words are uneven and melting
i wait for some wonderful pleasure
i wait for some miraculous evening
i wait for some heaven to swing low n pick me up
i wait for krishna to come n take me for a stroll
i wait for jesus to put his holy hand on my bony shoulder
i stand at the cross and angry roads
my sign says : will work for hedonism….
no one stops
no one travels these unbeaten paths
where the asphalt beach meats the neon jungle
where the rich italian guys drive up in their immaculate jaguars
where lone sharks aimlessly drift
and the warm but heatless wind sings in the window
near the room for rent cafe block with the empty fashion tat
and i feel myself slipping
not into dream
not into consciousness
not into blackness
but some nauseous universe all warped and sliding
every point unfixed
no certainty no attachment
may be you are mad i say to myself
but then i’d be talking to myself i hear myself say back
imagine i can read peoples minds
but my own has been locked up
and all my stuff chucked out
and exploded all over every universe
there is no where to hide
no where to go
still i await pleasure
even as the ship goes down down down
down to the bed with a shining glass sound
the palms sway in the damn wind
the fingers dance against the keyboard
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