Mike

Mike stood next to me, in flesh and in blood.
Mike said to me I don’t believe your theory.
Mike pushed me too close to tears, too close to closing my ears.
Too close to stop hating myself.

Mike explained all those scars on his arm.
Mike exceeds in excellence and brilliancy.
Mike told me that story of his that I should remember before anyone else’s.
Before my own.

Mike is the word that comes close to grace.
Mike is the denotation that comes close to hope.
Mike benefits from me, from us, from everyone who listens.
But I turned to work.

Mike could never be angry with me for too long.
Mike could replace that angle I’ve been ignoring for years.
Mike has the gift to make me appreciate the blood and bones again.
Mike has it all.

Mike is my hero and my guardian,
Mike is my buddha and bodhisattva,
Mike is April and June,
Mike is freedom.

dedicated to Mike (30th dec 2010)

The best I said could replace the smut in me

That’s it, isn’t it?
The magic number?
The holy grail?

On and on
You’re using depitation,
Deprivation.

And you, who are you?
The divine spark?
The song of Eden?

How can you,
How could you
Become better at failing?

Tick, tack, tick, tack,
Time is money,
Essential in dealing.

And what is that word,
That “L” word you’re longing
To forget?

What is this, what is this?
What is this tune?
What is this memory?

And you open the casket,
Betrayed by your nose,
Sniffing the memory.

Walking down Fleet Road,
Reminded of an idea,
An idée fixe.

Your inner eye doesn’t,
Doesn’t batter an eye.
Not for you. Not for you.

Because you’ll never be a man.
You’ll never forgive.
You’ll never sleep.

And that’s what’s playing you.
Playing you.