On Morphine

(after my lung collapsed)

I saw all four Beatles

in a green stuffed pepper

one lunchtime, and Jesus 

in my ward shower curtain.

The words on the page

of the book I was reading

leaped and pirouetted

like ants in a ballet.

It was trippy, almost worth

nearly dying for,

but considering I had

to piss through a tube 

for a week, I wouldn’t 

recommend you try it.

Remembering Lew and London

I don’t suppose now –

with you gone where? –

that I will stumble through

the city streets again

like we did, before you died,

getting drunk and scoring

high-grade weed

in pubs, then singing

under wheeling stars.

Tea Break, Day One on the Job

and then you start saying,

with fire in your eyes,

‘I’m getting fucking sick

of political correctness.

You can’t say a fucking thing nowadays

without offending someone,’

and you tap your ash off.

I think, ‘Oh Christ,’

and in this brand-new place,

I wonder if I’ll ever be

surprised again.

Police State

(Britain, a year or two from now)

For fuck’s sake,

Holly hissed

at Jack,

and pulled him

back down

by the shirt.

Light beams

arced around

the woods.

In the valley,

by the big rock,

they were dragging

handcuffed kids

from trucks.

Holly pressed

a finger

to her lips,

drew out

a butcher knife.

Two heavy boots

were coming

through the brambles.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: