The Geranium Hotel Poems

The shadow that leaks from the open fly The denim is stiff from too many drinks Spilt in the crotch of the whiskey husband And the floating applecores fly through the air Softening the ancient Skin that has been passed from the Romans Like a lesson learnt from history Your family tree carries nails in it's trunk And a young man with a deer horn knife has carved the initial of a man into the bark Not unlike the bark of a tree fallen on its side Somewhere in an August, Somewhere with horses in the night The vibrations are being strangled with the whiskey breath And all the stars are reflected in the fest drop of excitement You can smear it, you can taste it Sweeter than any sweet you can rot your teeth with And the mobile phones with all the friends Are merely the new notches on the butt of the flintlock pistol And the bruises next to the notch are the marks from the cane While the warm beer has been drunk and then sprayed all over the white moon To calm the mur...

I heard a voice come from the way What it said I could not say The words flowed clear and sang out strong Yet my mind felt confused- it felt strange- wrong. A whole year passed from when you left where did you go? What heavily lit trail did you take? A moment passed, a breath, a flicker of time And I grew old, no longer watched by the blossom on the branch I am a single man with eyes behind glass A soul who should know better than to glance behind to see his full spine bursting with memories to try and look at the vertebrae of years And to distinguish which ones hurt the most To slip them back into place amongst the dull and placated The skin on my hands it is cold The childhood wasn't bought nor sold A naked boy pissing as the storks take wing A cello leaning with its tendril, its broken string The darkness of the television sets The mere blackness from the night regrets I can't listen to the sound of embrace I won't feel the pulse of a year ...

The prettiest flower in the garden Could never match the warmest blanket in winter And I, when I am wrapped in this blanket I see colours That my eyes have stolen from this prettiest flower And I feel I am the size of a strawberry flower Yet my heart wants something the size of a hot air balloon And all I can taste is the roasts of childhood Burnt, but tasty And I want to count the syllables Written within every letter from a friend in London She has blue eyes The man I love has dark eyes I have grey eyes And there is another who also has dark eyes For every bar of music The nausea rides the ocean Like a broken pin Stuck into a champagne cork And the music never stops Like the Ocean that the cork must traverse I never like to think of my paranoia I never like to think of my childhood roasts Somewhere there is a beach Full of corks and waxy wings Slowly sinking, slowly becoming aware of the weight And the isolation And ...

You look down and never look to the sky again The gutter holds more interest Than the stars ever will You can step on the cracks And let yourself fall Into the canyons, grandiose and pleasing to the eye Falling is like flying Only you know its going to hurt when you land  So you have to land on someone who has wings You become the angel's parasite They are forced to be your guardian angel But as soon as you get close enough to the ground You let go And you run Because conversation with an angel  Is like conversation with a beautiful person Very, very boring So you run, and you hide In, perhaps, a doorway Lighting a cigarette as you catch your breath And you look as the Angel circles the sky looking for you And you inhale the cigarette smoke As you flick the collar of your shirt up And you look at the door that you are leaning against Someone has carved 'Waken your weapon, Waken your steps' in the wood You think about th...