The Geranium Hotel Poems

           Its late in the afternoon   The shadow, it         draws against the pavement                                 I am the only audience      That it will ever have...

Tell me when did I sign up for this? Tell me another name for this servitude Lost in the streets of your adopted hometown Where the spring comes late And the smell of damp earth never leaves your clothes Out of the triangle you can see the far flowers you can see paw prints in the snow When your head is filled with rhyme and nonsense where you sit beneath the elm And you talk to the shadow about the truth About being drunk on a farm of terror And you can hear a drum in the distance But it means nothing It means nothing Like an apology from America Or an acorn in Canada So lets not pull the teeth of Sydney Bay Like the thread that you use to tie around your finger Remembering French phrases on the piano at night We cant see beyond the triangle We know the algebra, we know the course But the lyrics have been washed from the bay's beach And we can only mumble and move our mouths Along with the guitarists actions Along with the governor and the mayor's bell ...

You put the ghost back on the shelf And you beg to know the way As the starlings fly Side by side Their wings cold Sliding in the night All around them clouds in orbit Never touching Crowns held high As you hear the click on the pavement Of shoes outside your door And the capital cities fade As the sunshine catches the handle Like love found in a letter Easy with that angel Easy with that weapon of economics We know you have the heart of a lion And the hand of a coward at war Happy only when silence is on the tongue A bitten finger and the smell of sweat You put those ghosts back in the cupboard And maybe it's time to leave You are the line that will not be crossed The bandage that is too tight Reality finds these days Too easily, too aghast But hey, you put that ghost back on the shelf Next to the old book of dust The book of sarcasm and healthy sex With spinning tops and daffodils I know you are the honey haired fruit of the garden But I can'...

Gone is what I once knew The great beat against the song All the salt in the all the tears Has dried against the wound Like water slipping from the leaf The velvet decay of a forrest's floor We should have carved our names in rock Met dawns on the empty mountain's side The reflection has gone Leaving nothing shiny, nothing captured No word of shame or shaky sight Gone is the sleep, the phase of night It is the furtherest fall and the noise birds It is the thought of wasted time With no coins left to throw in an unclean well Holding photographic paper Like precious faith uncurled There is everything you need on the forrest floor With the noise of birds above tarnished thought Have what you want from the rooms of dust Carry what you can on the road from slumber We can turn around and keep our own secret We can sleep by the fires that burn our hopelessness It was the future that got us far It was the itching miles that took us to the snow and the sea An...

I dreamt of the woman last night The old lady of the piano And she sang me her nursery rhyme A message of wild, ragged, glory The pin points of light formed a desert A bright wasteland holding back the dark Perfumed with the smoke of history's war planes Crashed and burning in their white and grey ash The ceremony continued with spectacle I felt as though there was water rippling to my waist My imagination conjured elephants Wading, slouching, coursing through their delta The windows were closed to the shadows all iced We struggle with images that sit and shift behind us Like we are unsteady with Love and Loneliness and Liberty And stones that circle fire will reveal beast and bird in flame The oldest voice, it wailed down at me Singing of the brass statues of the naked gods Holding their Leopard skins and spears Hewn so masterfully The old lady she sang at me With words that were etched into the bells of freedom She spoke softly the phrases that were dress...

Does it really matter what road your on? Or that the leaves around you are dying? That the stones are pulling at your feet? Or that the birds are southward flying? And you know, what girl doesn't love a poet? And what boy doesn't love a girl? What expectations do you put in your promises? What sort of secrets can't you tell? Does it really matter when you finally leave your lover? When you finally hear the silent alarm? Does it effect you when you sweep those dreams away? Along with the tears and broken charms? And you know that the skies are swallowing the days? Like the days are stealing what little time we have But c'mon what girl doesn't love a poet? And what boy wouldn't love that girl? Does it really matter that your spending the night alone? Or that the old hotel ahead is a grave of lust and dust Does it matter that its lights are fading like our looks And like us the owner is a man whose past you can't really trust And you know we...

Only the King with his crown on the floor should be reading this For he is the only one who will understand Visions of the day that introductions took place After the nudge over silicon and wire Bright spots appear, there is no recollection Have you since been stolen by another melody? Sung by someone wrapped in velvet, casting long shadow I remember your shadow, dark like your Chilean eyes I would happily follow it through what is left of these days Celebratory dinners of fried chicken- romantic no? Trapped in the wardrobe, with only another boy for comfort Half way up stairwells, trousers down, cocks out   My god, boy, you were always my king Do you know this? Films that caused hysteria, on darkened couches, under softened blankets Massaged muscles, I like to think that there were times that I made you feel good But there are different words for the same feelings, the same emotions I can never forget your eyes, I wond...