Sunday, February 25, 2007

Bulletins From The Edge (Clang!)

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‘the moon is a white bowl in a sky that is black clear and danced with stars’

MAN!
the CLANG
of a
thick bottomed glass
SLAMMED down
on a tile fire place
is a
grateful organic RINGGG!

I do it again
LAUGHING nearly SCREAMING
in infantile delight!
and again I do it
and
then help comes
and
there is an ugly scene . . .

and
later I recreate that
glorious CLANG,
all unstable I am,
going RINGGG
with a thick bottomed shot glass
in my bedroom

where

I REFUSE to sleep
playing in almost
infantile delight

where

you can crawl in
through the
hole in the ceiling

and

I stand empty
whisky bottles
upside down
by the gas fire
to heat me enough booze
for
another shot or two
going CLANG
and CLANG
as
ice in shards
fly about
to stick and melt
and tickle
on my arms

it's Wednesday;
it's January;
and
it's 2007;
it’s the FUTURE I gasp
in infantile delight
then
CLANG and CLANG
and
LAUGHTER

I am listening to Arthur Lee;
his sometimes
EXISTENTIALIST
and
his sometimes
GENIUS
and
his sometimes
MASTERPIECE
plays, squeaking, out the player
and
I CLANG along,
unstable,
delighted with the tile fireplace
and
LAUGHTER
because it all works
in a way
it all works . . .

these are
BULLETINS from the EDGE
like the cigarettes
I coax alight
in the quiet roar
of indoor fire

I have
HUNCKE
for breakfast
and
I have
BUKOWSKI
on the toilet
and
I have
FAULKNER
at work
and
I have
ELLIS
at night

it's all plain addiction
(CLANG!)
and
only
WORK gets in the way
or
only
WORK saves me
because, unstable,
I am still going CLANG
and marvelling
with child’s glee
at the organic
RINGGG!

one day
I can die in the wooden walls
and
this will seem exciting
then
but
this will
be
the PAST
then
(CLANG!!)

Ford Dagenham

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