posted on September 11, 2008 at 8:48 pm

on the last day
when i was still a youngman
when it was still possible
when it was still likely….
soft spring morning breaks like china all over the place
a grasp for adjectives to apply to the sky
how many different blues
how many poignant little clouds just sitting there
planes full of important people jet off n out of memory
and somehow
although never having met them
i miss all them all
the palm outside my window is still
the sandy soil is patient and receptive
my old bomb of a car awaiting my attention
do i just jump in and drive for miles
past white walled villas and past awful slums
past fields with brokendown cows
and crumpled pines
the hinterland
the outskirts of another big dirty conglomerate of grease n noise
the fruit sellers and their dismal barrows
the deserted drive-ins overgrown with weeds
the roads run off here and there
the wires thin out and stretch back towards the city
the creek clogged with reeds and a sick black swan
someone shoots at the signs
wow… great shot…it’d be hard to miss, tho…
the gravel is reddish
its spring but it dont mean anything i guess
life goes on until it stops
until the fates blast ya with their twenty twos
and youve got a hole in yer mind
and you cant remember yesterday
but you can remember every detail from some jim-jims life
some idiot who strummed a guitar
or some little ninny who did this or said that
or some pig-headed fool
dressed up in some uniform somewhere
making some proud and cruel announcement
his foot on the head of a native
his hands red with needlessly shed blood
or something i overhead in a supermarket once…
no i already forgot that..
or something i did in a greenhouse
or the names of the children who i havent seen for half a century
or names carved on trees
names of kids i never met
names on graves that made me cry
the car speeds on
at the railway
stopped to wait for a train
i catch every eye in every window
everyone on the train listening to their ipods
all the ipods play the same song
clicketty clack
its all coming back
the blues in the night

time being

36 Responses to “soft unction”

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