Blind Me And Guide Me


What is it you want me to believe in?
Is it the flock of birds flying like joined roses floating
The peak of sensual age?
I turn Twenty Nine and the climax is mine
The plea of a generation held together by torture?
The torture of the prophets- Whitman, he nurses us
Is it the course touch of a hand roughened by sand and rock?
The path that applauses every step to Sodom
The generous buddhist- bearded with eyes closed?
In bed with the russian before dawn, We Let Him Down!
The cold winter warmed by cynicism and a centuries irony?
You can warm my arse with your country charm
The poets lining their pockets with fools gold?
Lining up to be shot by the artists- a war with out generals
The skeleton with eyes to the stars?
Awake and noticing how the apple never rots
Is it the shop keeper that keeps everything shaded?
The man who keeps a statue of Apollo at the bottom of his pool
The mongrel God of Egypt and Babylon?
So large his nose was singed by the sun
Is it the song of hope written in the shadow of Oscar's grave?
An ode to St Sebastian with libation to Francis Bacon

Tell me what it is you wish me to believe
I will think the thought and trust it
Let it blind me and guide me 
And live within its heartland 

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