Archive for July 13, 2008

Fourth Language

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 13, 2008 by dc

He melts onto women
Like salt on a wet tongue,
No ear listening out
For their moans of disgust,
No shapes to his thinking,
His brain is just gas.

Only the index finger
On his left hand
Has retained
Any rhythm tonight.

He’s made the decision
To store dried saliva
At the corners of his mouth,
His face is alive
With wild twitching,
His grin is the cusp of collapse.

His fourth language
Is English,
Behind the coughing,
The belching
And the famous
Lizard tongue.

He shakes tambourines
Like his flesh has no bones,
The all-seeing blackout
Sits like skin on his eyes,
Blood flows itchy,
His engines are base.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 13, 2008 by dc

They dance on dog-ends don’t they?
They move in for kills
And fill hearts with rain,
All the time a smile creeping slowly
Like a snake from the ashes
Or a beetle from soil.

They’re made of steel,
They never fall
And they never fail,
They spit programmed charisma,
Thoughts are single and simple,
Well trained and cold.

They strut like an army,
I fear them like storm clouds,
Yet they’re nothing when I sleep,
Thoughts just lying still,
Alone in a graveyard,
Amongst all the glitter
Where God hides his jokes.

Proud Old Man

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on July 13, 2008 by dc

Your baby granddaughter
Smells of freshly baked scones,
You look like a tree trunk,
Your eyes are like oak knots.

Skin like tanned leather
With a wisdom only age can bring,
There’s a tremble as you hold her,
It’s an ancient way to soothe.

Your baby granddaughter is happy
Staring at anything,
The yellow-white lights,
A beggar’s messy beard,

The lines of a subway map,
A train alive with eyes,
The old and weathered face you gurn,
Where wrinkled laughter lies.