two recent poems
And here's another couple of things I promised you. I am Mark E Smith is probably the better of the two, but don't let me make up your mind for you.
I am Mark E Smith
I am Damo Suzuki
I am Mark E Smith
I have read Jung but I do not remember
I have twat hair.
I was hit in the jaw at twenty-seven by a drunken rogue
Death has always been here.
I did not have sex until fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine again
fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine again.
Positive diary.
Stanislawski changed my life I was mental for a while
fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine again.
I have twat hair all my life
this escapade is boring me now.
Diary entry: Nightmares, disturbed sleep. Four hours. Excellent weather again.
I want to phone but I think you would not like it.
I am Mark E Smith
I am MJD
I was twenty-one
a section of the bar caught fire
I was very happy at the gig.
Captain Beefheart for a Sonic Youth. Sonic Youth.
Or for both for a pillow.
Or for both for a pillow.
For favourite listening
everyday listening on radio iPod CD vinyl.
Fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine again.
I was mental for a while with twat hair.
The louts did not like me
I was a faggot and a bowl-head frog
staring skinny badly-dressed.
But I had blue dress
I was princess dying under the bed.
I am Mark E Smith
MES
and bad pseudonyms
I have twat hair.
No argument from me.
On the morning after Valentine's Day the milk vans were out at four a.m.
it was very cold
I thought that I would die.
Yellow bins for salt and grit
for icy roads.
But it is sunny and warm now
with clouds like marble limestone stone through haze.
Don't park in the yellow diamonds
yellow square.
In Bradford Manchester Cardiff
in London I was twenty.
There was a homeless man from Wales
he was impeded, subject to brutality.
I saw road accidents
glass and blood and people standing round.
They were amazed to see me barefoot at other times.
I was listening to Sonic Youth and I fell down.
It was a snake
the city humped-back snake
I was mental for a while.
My hair was a twat
made a spectacle of my head
fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine again.
It was Mark E Smith.
I went back to the country
but I hated it.
I always walk to avoid the smelly people-tin.
I have read Stanislavski
I was mental for a while
when I was writing twenty-seven
very tired.
Very tired with a shambles for my hair.
Twenty-seven
scampering
a low and wide-street city
it was a belly of a cat
but steeply cambered and cold in the winter.
mattdalby
20aug6
butter
pour hot butter
pour garlic butter
pour it over my legs
stain the sheets
pour it in bed
over my fingers
pour it on your neck.
want to smell of garlic
want to smell of fuck
want to hear you laughing
want to sing along
i've seen you lick your fingers.
cheek face against the mirror
garlic smears
garlic smears
against my cheek
warm palm
want to kiss your garlic thumb.
mattdalby
oct6
I am Mark E Smith
I am Damo Suzuki
I am Mark E Smith
I have read Jung but I do not remember
I have twat hair.
I was hit in the jaw at twenty-seven by a drunken rogue
Death has always been here.
I did not have sex until fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine again
fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine again.
Positive diary.
Stanislawski changed my life I was mental for a while
fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine again.
I have twat hair all my life
this escapade is boring me now.
Diary entry: Nightmares, disturbed sleep. Four hours. Excellent weather again.
I want to phone but I think you would not like it.
I am Mark E Smith
I am MJD
I was twenty-one
a section of the bar caught fire
I was very happy at the gig.
Captain Beefheart for a Sonic Youth. Sonic Youth.
Or for both for a pillow.
Or for both for a pillow.
For favourite listening
everyday listening on radio iPod CD vinyl.
Fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine again.
I was mental for a while with twat hair.
The louts did not like me
I was a faggot and a bowl-head frog
staring skinny badly-dressed.
But I had blue dress
I was princess dying under the bed.
I am Mark E Smith
MES
and bad pseudonyms
I have twat hair.
No argument from me.
On the morning after Valentine's Day the milk vans were out at four a.m.
it was very cold
I thought that I would die.
Yellow bins for salt and grit
for icy roads.
But it is sunny and warm now
with clouds like marble limestone stone through haze.
Don't park in the yellow diamonds
yellow square.
In Bradford Manchester Cardiff
in London I was twenty.
There was a homeless man from Wales
he was impeded, subject to brutality.
I saw road accidents
glass and blood and people standing round.
They were amazed to see me barefoot at other times.
I was listening to Sonic Youth and I fell down.
It was a snake
the city humped-back snake
I was mental for a while.
My hair was a twat
made a spectacle of my head
fourteen, seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine again.
It was Mark E Smith.
I went back to the country
but I hated it.
I always walk to avoid the smelly people-tin.
I have read Stanislavski
I was mental for a while
when I was writing twenty-seven
very tired.
Very tired with a shambles for my hair.
Twenty-seven
scampering
a low and wide-street city
it was a belly of a cat
but steeply cambered and cold in the winter.
mattdalby
20aug6
butter
pour hot butter
pour garlic butter
pour it over my legs
stain the sheets
pour it in bed
over my fingers
pour it on your neck.
want to smell of garlic
want to smell of fuck
want to hear you laughing
want to sing along
i've seen you lick your fingers.
cheek face against the mirror
garlic smears
garlic smears
against my cheek
warm palm
want to kiss your garlic thumb.
mattdalby
oct6
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