Tuesday, 20 March 2012

saints alive

it is all in the flowing wondrous noticing
it is all in the bringing back to lif
the dada frgemnt jigsaw puzzle hopelessing
the collage scribbling dylan lyric jive
the riffs the raffle number puzzle wine for sale
the jazzmen passing throough the ols ship inn
the outdoor counter ticket stubs and cigaretes the
girls and boyts who struugle to survive tyhe rambling
drooling tongue tied muzzled daily lies of paper headings foolscap sheets and paper cuts
the cunning vixen feed the cubs and scouting dibs
and dobs n blobs of ink on fingers and on desks the empty stolen contents of the ancient maths the taxi cab inebriate piddle meths
oh strike a match and pee stain paint upholstery and pull your tights up for the vicar sees the through behind the saint parishioners birthday gifts and someone sings a hymn to all of these
so finally i tell the truth about my love the letting go of long and answered prayers the blame i pout on my inadequacies and sinking dremas the hurt i supressas i fall on my needs oh no its not the poverty i mostly fear northe abundant flow of everything i somehow need i kneed the dough and pushit to trap oxygen i pump balloons for partings long ago inside mys soul i slippers on seek hearth of christmas and of trees and look for presents i will never know if i find the gifyt thats hdeen then my life will end i must pretend i di d not see you there i must not draw these pictures of your momentry and jotted eyes ago in faith and cheers the tears are ink i draw with in my heart and journal style mistakes make up mjy style that i could never hide the applaud the old misatkes i make deliberatley i tell them all but if they say so will i say they hear its time to pour disaster down a belfst sink oh sucha special think for every man a space to take the clay and all its pottery though clogged old draina and childhood satins do not have me standing there naked washed by parents full of love they were poor enough once a poon a time to notice me and i was bright enough to understand that though my little willy had not flowered just then i have a hope for generations in my tine drawing hands

the birds are fresh and busy behind the warmth of the fan heater and the ghotliness of the debussy dram of track number

on the old apple mac incongruously obliviously bringing the new cd to life despit its own outdated ness no you cannot play this disc in a mp 3 nor plug a usb into the mac might as well be mac the knife heh bertie or a tinitin stule raincoat none of these things understand the holy communion of their shared sylabbles

i once wrote a song wrtoe into me

without judgement we will be set free iwonder what jesus wrote on the ground?

if i say i don't no nothing it dont mean i dont no somethings its just that i cant break it down wonder what jesus worte ont he ground

marry me someone and we can pretend for the rest of eternity that we were meant for each other because nothing else has worked so far no i could not take the subtlest of criticisms and did not trust the motivation behind it

yes you were to balem

and no i do not pretend my inccocence nor my shame

but but made us both to be aware that these flaws are his percections and not imprerfections at all

make our mistakes perfectly for they are blessing in disguise his immaculate rebirth of eternal life given never to be removed taken back or stolen surprise supplies

jimmy two giraffes

amy gave me one

and now an old student from withns lane

no she can't take that away from me who is this noteworthy rose 'och the poor wee dandelion'

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