Words of varying strengths fucking and punching one another, lighting cigarettes and putting on coats. All creating shadows that we call poems with a queer read on them.
Sandwiched between regret and some kind of love Where the layered leaves of autumn fall The damp stars all glide over such a mouldy moon And our ships were christened by the naked man- called Salvation Our Wisdom was king and we heard the sirens string section Yet we did not know where we could go that day We just merely sat there with frozen limbs and fortune was plagued by Nemesis Who could we seek underneath that mouldy moon Who would paint us as we sacrificed that which we held excellent and new Between that which we chased and that which we could not believe in The arrows within our compasses all pointed upward against our pockets And the string section was played backwards as the soft skin changed colour in the heat and light But the rules had been written by Salvation and the granite had been carved The dreams had been lost to night and no one could remember The knives were as silent as the saints, the angels were loud as they fell to the water As they rolled i...
PART ONE Letting go is the easy action Reaching for a grip is hardest The words belonged to my mind that day Under the masculine sky So masculine it would not bow to even Juliet Nor any other heroine so fragile and able I stood beneath it a new knowledge Disturbing what had been my former self Previously I was perverted enough To race from keyhole to keyhole And spy on life Like an insect buzzing criticising and relaxing Though always chaste Perverted I may have been But forever I was chaste I would be chaste enough to never open a door and enter For entering would mean intrusion which would lead to introduction Introduction into a world In which one has the boast of already spying into The situation is not a comfortable one It would be best if the Sky remained as the sky Never the ground This day the sky was broad, heavy Thick with bawdy masculinity Drunk with its own weight Wanting desperately to fall and become the ground As desperately as humanity is stupid Though it is our nature ...
Sort yourself out Alan Bennett You lack swagger and stride and hold raincoat in hand You are the documenter of a filthy age Not one that holds the reflection of a revolution on the Thames You may quiver and shiver and fray at your prey Alan Bennett But do you think we remember you, or your words? You are the keeper of a secret rage Not one that holds sanction in glorious Catholic churches You are not confused for David Hockney as often as you think Alan Bennett His opinions are not national treasures You are the one who murders the fly on the page Not one who thinks of the death as your own Alan Bennett, I’ve never been to the queen’s country I’ve never seen the river polluted by a thousand ghosts Never seen your poets buried in fourteen rows Never had my bruises healed by the kiss of a Molly Alan Bennett, What exactly is a history boy? Am I one? Are you one? Is Hector the last? I wonder if the first draft of his thought kisses your bruises… Alan Bennett do you wake in the middle o...
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