A Death in the Night
In the meadow by the truck run.
Stars burst like fireworks but the moon outshines the suns.
I lie like a worm, wet in the dirt. Lie like a bad fakir on too few blunt nails.
I slept a little. Pissed a bit. And I bitched and bitched and bitched all night and….
yes, briefly was visited by – I can’t say.
Bedknobs and broomsticks carry me away. Natural high is the worst high in the world and chemical poison is the sky. Ride, my white swan from dawn to morn, let me fly, fly, fly on her mighty wings.
The track skips.
Dismembered bodies lurch their way on until the feet are found – or not.
I’m tripping, like Alice, falling down that hole. STOP IT!
The cripple apprentice likewise: Stands! Does. Takes stock.
Love can look like hate through the right lenses, and hate can look good through the wrong ones.
But a blind man needs no audio description. He has his own horse.
Heavy guts. Crying song.
Night coming on. Is here. Is none. Blackness.
Those trucks are going to crush me. Back to blackness.
I’m losing it. I’m losing it. Not that I ever had it or knew it.
Look Mr Rabbit I’m on your tail and whiskers! I’m going to be early for MY funeral.
Pastel watercolours or thick gouache vivids. Screams or chant. Not mine.
Not mine, never mine.
All art fails. All failings fail too, and success sucks –
Or so they say.