Tuesday, 3 August 2010

The Wales Sequence

I want to be here in this
rain-proof pod
singing rain-proof
with two philosophers and
a master of discourse
who I'd love to talk to but
I'm stuck
on the page

in this pod
in the rain

and I'm stuck in this loop

in this pod
in the rain

with two others and one more
the same
stuck on this page

in this pod
in the rain

and one of them has something written
on her hand

in this pod
in the rain

and I'm happy and here

in this pod
in the rain

I don't know why you took me here
by the sea, and the cliffs, with the rocks and
but I love it, and it almost seems too much right
and the sand and the messages and
that you write
would be
almost all
of everything
to me

and this moment hurts because I know it will end
and I can be so cynical so often but I'm honest right now
why did you bring me, and why can't I just let it be as
as it is

There is no fire, but just
a dull, unofficial and repeating
and let me explain
I keep trying to light it but I've run out of gas
from idly flicking and
burning my fingers
I don't have anything left but the case and the case is colder than a flame but
it still hurts to touch

eventually I'll have to give up
and I think I'll be ready soon

Just promise me that when I
have something to say again you'll listen with kind ears.
I've got nothing now, but I'll try, I'll try
until I can't try again.
I'm not sure
I'm not sure
I'm not sure
I'm not sure
I'm just repetition

We're sitting at the social club with not a hint of metaphor about us
and Mr. Makoto is dancing back
and forth with his silent fingers and
heavy hands
he does not tickle or mingle but he does
kill us where we stand
so I'm glad I'm sitting
and when he pauses and his feel leave the ground
you can hear japan travel through his sounds
and the pint is bitter
but the bassist is sweet
and pudge on the trumpet,

well he was just cool, man

She and he are figuring out the comings and goings of complex courtship, but they ain't dancing.
it's song and rigid practice so that they might just flow
I can hear through floors and was once there
and her voice with such b-
but something even more, that might need a new word
the accented warbles finish my thoughts like colors
and colors that I can't describe
but she could sing it
and he could drive it along with her on the hood

more desirable than a Cadillac shield
more slick than a mermaid
more soul than all heaven and hell combined

and hell, I ain't going to heaven,
but they sure as heck should

d o t s
d o t s
d o t s
d o t s
arrows to the end and
we point at patterns that hold
nothing for us
can you hear my voice?
do you remember my name?
I am he who raised a bastard child that would become
king in our dreams
and the dots that lead you to me
were placed there by him
or maybe it's all rubbish, and
I'm losing my way
but as long as you can see them
it's all going to be OK

I thought I could see you walking

but maybe just a hanging pair of legs

without your voice, or eyes, or smile

so not worth all of this thought

and I could babble like a tower of old
and I would write every word with care

but you wouldn't be there

just some hanging clothes, tricking my eager eye

I'm sitting, and waiting
and for now I'm someone else
it's still me, but a different form
formed from concepts of
and I'm peaceful and waiting
in another man's shoes
taking up space where another
man should be
and scrawling quickly from
side to
and my form is calculated to
draw your gaze
not for vanity but for a wish
of another life
a form in which I make more
so I sit
and wait
in another mans clothes
and someone else might come to
and hi
and I might draw your gaze

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