If you leave me I will send you poetry And if we marry And you leave me I will send you poetry And alimony And if your new guy beats me I will still send you poetry Your bones could leave this sad world baby And I'd just switch to elegies
I knew you well And I can picture you right now On your own In your room With only your beauty And be pretty sure that you are just there On your own With only your beauty to keep you company ***** And writhing miserably Sometimes But not mostly And I'd have liked you without your beauty But you are there now On your own With only your beauty But your beauty was nothing in the end Really
I'm doing good now Settled down With wifi A phone A house A good amount of food I've stopped smoking And taken up jogging again And there is no one on my horizon
It's a shame my head exploded The day I met you In front of those dinner guests On that tinder date My mind was blown It's a shame that you were disfigured By the shrapnel from my skull It was going well for once It's just a shame that my head exploded
You're going to die But there's a list of the 30 best cat selfies on buzzfeed Something is going on in Ukraine, or is it Venezuela? But it's ok... Sherlock is back on And you haven't finished Game of Thrones yet God is a twisted sadist if he exists at all But you have some notifications on Facebook Don't think, Just pick up the phone and play Flappy Bird Let the feelies get to those thoughts that creep in
The revolution wasn't televised It was tweeted And its auto-tune remix went viral the next day
The poetry It has spilled Like the blood of a great massacre And it has diluted To a near transparent film Over the 21st century Over Miley Cyrus' *** Over grotesquely distorted salaries It lingers in the grey concrete behemoths of utilitarian cities It's on your cat It's in your parents hair It's in Angela Merkells teeth And this omnipresent film That only few can see Is evaporating into a backdrop incandescent beauty It's vaporising into an intoxicating nectar It's what slavery was to the blues Or the reconstructions of war to bauhaus Or what the crusades were to the renaissance So twerk on Miley Your artlessness Makes art stronger by the day
Somewhere in the path of my life That noise in my head got tuned down I started getting good nights sleep I started to be able to concentrate And control moods better Started being on time for things And I started eating couscous salads And other things middle aged Guardian readers eat The epitome of adjusted
Then you came along And the noise in my head came back And I lost all those things But it's ok It turns out the noise in my head Was music
Do you get angry When others Don't abide to your moral code? Because we all have one And no one is right From mother Theresa to Charles Manson And then we die
It's crazy how you can be at the right place at the right time And become a millionaire Or the wrong place at the wrong time and die In a gutter And how arbitrarily these people are chosen And how many things we can invent To make it all seem like it makes sense
Glassy eyed and Lost in utilitarian cities With a low-yielding love And a useless imagination With the bad art And the public transport seat pattern blues
The skyline was beautiful on fire All twisted metal reaching upwards The water wars The great migrations The barbarity of a thousand roving clans The infertility And the old used as meat Had made love a distant memory to those remaining But tumbling over scraps Navigating through shards Gnawing at withered roots Lapping at acrid streams We went on All we had done was hope better
Something interesting happened today I stitched the pansexual symbol To the back of my denim jacket And went into town Most people didn't get it But a few did And their jaws hit the ground And that made it worth it
The moon is half full tonight My spleen is twice as big tonight And in my horniness I hope for a nondescript passerby To knock on my door And wrestle the sadness away with me No questions asked But no one comes And I wonder how many others feel so hopeless tonight
"I want to write the last banned book" You used to say And you bullied people with your words Your ability for words Your way with words But you never read the silent people Who couldn't find the words That you used so liberally You never tried to translate their Solitude and turmoil And you ended up writing Some of the many Forgotten Strings of words
Night bus And the pug nosed guy in the suit over there Staring me down Is a thousand broken dreams And the young girl down there Who looks weird But my kind of weird Is a thousand unexplored And the ***** with the cap trying to finish off his crossword Is Gil Scott-Heron And no one sits next to me as I spill my poison through the keypad into a cracked screen
Me and my brothers We are raised tall and defiant We are rallied and railed against An apathetic world at which we spit We spiel our ululations to the night sky Our candles burn at both ends
We rise to get broken Here comes ocean Icarus wouldn't be a legend If he hadn't aimed for heaven
Life is like the M25 Circular and eternal Covered in tarmac With little skid marks And Little Chefs Life isn't really like the M25 Nothing is really like anything
No sleep and I take my dark eyes to the streets and the membrane separating the subconscious is weak People become angels and demons Screeching metro wheels are symphony orchestras and emotions bump, collide and vibrate like particles in boiling water No sleep but it's going to be a good day
I can sense a great sadness in you You may wrap a large jacket around your shoulders And curl up into a ball at night But the sadness shines through The tight ball And the large jacket You bring it with you to the streets And you cut slices of it off for the people you talk to
I hope that one day The cork Holding it all in there Pops out
We stood infront of each other Ripping off chunks of flesh Mixed with matted hair We gouged eyes Struck bone Tore strips of skin As pools formed at our feet And kept going Clawing at cartiledge Pulling at intestines Until we got to the core And we were both bare That was our love
There was a saint at the bar last night He wore a battered shirt And had uneven stubble He cradled his beers Peeling the labels off out of boredom If you looked closely you could see the early signs of a receding hair line And bags under his eyes All he had said in three days Was "beer" and "thanks" He didn't look like a saint And no one went home with him that night And he ate 50 aspirin And he wasn't at the bar the next day Or the next But he was a saint
Outside I have no influence People are born where they shouldn't be Objects of consumption end up in gutters Chemicals that will slowly erode me Are put in the drinking water A handshake seals the fate of some low lying town Which is to be flooded for hydroelectricity The chaos creates a fjord with a great variety of fish Until catfish take over and an algae that wasn't meant to leave a laboratory in Italy takes over and makes the water toxic People wrestle with notions that no one else will understand and that none of the many world dialects can express Dogs **** where they shouldn't And it is only a dim reprieve in a cavernous darkness that I know the order of my shampoo bottles Or that a weeks worth of muesli lies in one of my cupboards Or that my scarf hangs on that chair by the door And yet the landlord Is a vulture That is trying to take This last scrap of rotting meat Away from me
We two boys together clinging Absinthe drinking Paradise garage dancing Old people alarming Tower top gazing Hands clutching Discordant steps searching Sound of you falling Giovanni's room emulating Stop the lift kissing Separated Then returning And turning Swinging Dancing 2-stepping Laughing Crying In Bars Clubs Roofs Rooms Corridors Parks Shops Seats Cinemas Streets And then returning Hands clasping Lips locking On our mattress Fulfilling our foray