The Geranium Hotel Poems

Do you remember that boat? The colour of the waves The sea, the froth, the birds, the sand All things that existed for just one day All things that go on in my mind We rowed out, but never too far We shared the same unspoken fear The day was a day of rolled up pants Shirtless bodies The sun lit your chest hair on fire Shadowed your lips when you smiled Etched your muscles deeper Helped the day fall under a terrific spell A spell which I am still under And the day that I die When I am carried from my home The warmth of that sun will slowly disappear It will fade from my broken body The spell will be broken  The spell will be broken Do you remember the silence on the boat After the olives and the wine? Do you remember the kiss, the caress, the sweat, the ghasp? The only line of poetry you knew you screamed At me, the gulls, the sky, the sea! The day was long, beautiful, historic and simple The day was the history of the world in one

All the little boys Staring at the big old blue sky Distracted by the emptiness Distracted by the coldness of that colour That big old God up there That mighty one, that angry and forgiving one Looking at those boys Smiling as they grow in their malice, their lust, envy and greed Rubbing his hands, rubbing his thighs, rubbing his cock Every time he says those bright young things Browsing through pornography, ikea brochures, insurances pamphlets Every time they forget to call their mother And now in their age they see no sky They see no emptiness or cold, cold blue They have become the flatness, the coolness And they look for no great forgiving entity They feel no omnipresent god No molesting lover there to judge them To hand out halos, wings or devils horns No dirty old man to touch them on the thigh To assure them that all is well, good and forgiveness is secure Yet every time he says those monkeys Jerking off in their expensive cars In the clover by the all gir

Cavities in the brass that keeps your door seen The children carve animals in the sides of your car We look from our steps to see the world turn We see the cherubs sharpening their swords New York a city we both know must burn London a city we soon shall forget Paris a town flooded with noise, rain and dirt Our home abandoned, left for the spider and fox We can't see no horizon We can't see the path We listen for the dead gods We hear the universal bum Dead poets proclaim what they need! Dead poets tell us what they want! Their rotten hands writing cobweb words On the graves of their muses, on the doors of the corpses And who is this Isabelle they all scream for? Who is this new Hadrian, this girl who will build the golden wall? The scream for her at night Shaking in their dreams They hover over their beds Muttering spells, musical and rhythmic Indians come, raiding and killing Indians come, stroking and kissing Indians come, standing and waiting Indian