a very merry birthday present
and a very merry birthday sweeping willow trees across the screen, the sleep is somewhere out there in the reflection. draggin my feet like some petulant child and all the while the smiles and the betrayal battle on - never far - never listless - grounded in unsupervised authoritarian triangles i cannot begin to fathom, the brotherhood in this building. we trade hugs for bags, fifty buck notes, short changing the dealers, then willing them back. i have certainly done my penance. lying awake whilst the peacock struts and mates and fans his tail above my head, its 4am and the birds are a mother fucker. this bastard took the back stairs to my place. my simple little space, where writing is attempted under heavy; sedation, cigarette burns fight for survival amongst the bed sheets, the dressing gown down on the floor. there might have been blood in the sink. the flat smells like sour milk, the windows are open to thieves and back tracking my steps is more of a muddle than the independent's crossword puzzle. lame is as lame does. zean beat me down. told me that infinite truth, sent him packing, buddhist beads at hand, anxiety for lack of scripts of all forms, the weekend looms and no doctor feel betters in sight. a sentence, a 15 year old sentence is the fight. people are embarrassed broer he told me. for lack of accurate description i raitonalise laugh, drink, bang my way out of that room in his head. all eyes are upon us now. the gods, deserted - - a Sisyphean failure - to borrow a phrase, if emotion must skulk in the background. and still a hundred hours to fill, another glass my friends, salute - a joint arrangement, bereft of escape, the long war, the fed up, the confused, the angry, the big stinking loss of a botched fall. i looked down from the top of the building and spit on it all.
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