Poems for Crows Part 1: Birds / Pillow Talk
Birds
Birds.
I like them.
Didn’t know I heard
the light
on.
Smelling rhythms,
Fried intuitions or
Pannonia.
The line of truth is thin.
Unbalanced
tins.
Do you understand me?
I misunderstood you.
Tense
muscles form deadlocks
Till
Dawn.
I don’t want to listen,
I’m better alone.
Trust comes from sweat,
Right down to the bone.
Pillow Talk
Red feathers of a primed pillow,
Crimson after the fact,
Withered and hollow,
Intact without eyes.
Just featured words of a
creature.
Not beautiful, clever nor rich,
I’ve slept in many a ditch,
When I wanked in a toilet I thought of your dad,
Combing his soft blonde hair.
Oil me bitch and be glad.
Had I been happy I wouldn’t have written,
Since I’ve written I’ve got everything you had,
Sit and be merry while I take my vengeance on a town
That
Wants
Me
Back.
Sure I am mad and I’m proud,
I’d listen to chickens before shit,
Sound is the turning of Earth,
It cares not for you and I.
I peel and fade into dirt,
No wonder we drink and cry.
Mars is scarlet and fat,
Cunts will fuck pigs up there,
Starving, muddy, broken humans
Flesh flopping to entomb the poor.
Labour don’t party no more.
Do I think there’s a reason?
Do I sit and ask why?
I dance on plates tectonic,
And tickle the lute with a sigh.
Pan’s horns hold the earth as we die.
Happiest when free,
Though opting to live caged,
Why do we live for the goalposts?
Fading
hungry ghosts of old ways,
Which we use to light the page.
We are not happy when free.
Back to the primed pillow,
Teal after the fact,
I cut my father down cold,
and stabbed my mother in the back.
To eat their hearts and become immortal,
Is what the hawk
demands.
Charmed?
Of course you are.
What is the devil without his car,
The thief without a guitar,
The beer without the writer and
APPLAUSE!
For I have fucking risen.
Do I smoke for me or you?
Do I snort powder because it's blue?
Do people know I should pass out?
Cued for a time that I can sit and smoke snout.
It’s tiring this writing
you
know.
Yes I fucked an artist.
That’s why I’m here.
Caused to reflect in torment,
Because of influences I lament for.
The fun ones are always the bad ones.
Fucks sake.
Caves look fun to live in,
I can smell the tangerine zest,
Grime reflects while shadows,
Hang from my eyes.
It’s the city they despise.
University is my father,
My mother died from sin,
The Grim Reaper is a state silhouette-
bureaucracy is evil-
banality is fate-
There is some finality in my tone,
You’ve heard me grown and mumble,
Stumble me a beer I’ll fumble your wife,
It’s time for me to sincerely
offer an
You see it all comes back to the primed pillow,
gold after the fact,
madness is truth and we’re all uncouth
To a universe that feels sad.
You’re really all I have.
