Sunday, 6 November 2011

house full of books

House full of books
Is where He lived
with his Beer and
Occasional girlfriends,
Cigarettes and computers
While outside,
Faith in numbers
Grinds everything
To ugliness

He meditates on
The rooftop
Amidst chimney pots,
empty wine bottles
And carrion birds
rinsing their scavenged
Paprika chicken
In the rain puddles.
On the horizon
They're still building
great leering shards
Apoplexy architecture with
nowhere to go

In his minds eye
Silence, for a
shimmering moment
Before the cocaine
cacophony of
two penny trash-can
music, falling
The cracking entrophy
Of the flesh.

Below, wailing drunks
Won't care if
They die under
bulldozers or gentrification
He meditates
An epic pathos
Dead skin cells billowing
like ribbons on the Wind
Then, grey nothing
Only pulse remnants of light
behind his closed lids
He senses
In lonely bookshops
The sluice gates of Pity
As pointless as
aid for africa or
roman legions
In hollywood

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