THE TROTSKIEN MOUNTAINEER
At ten thousand feet
Avalanches are political
Opinions move down
The scree slope
Sticks and stones may
Break bones
But this aluminium pick-axe
Stuck in my head
Is quite another matter
MY DAMASCAN MOMENT IN
A WOODLAND PORTALOO
I wipe my arse crack
Then freeze, see the world
Burst with livid sunshine
Sat on my chemical
Throne, bolt upright
Sat on my wooden seat
I have an idea -
Everything could
Change... real neat
I jump up start
Writing on a roll,
Spilling my soul
Onto Andrex
Run out into
The garden show
My arse to the neighbours
Rip bark off a sycamore
And write on that
Giddy with the simplicity
Of what I hold
Testicles bouncing against
Each other I run off to
The railway station
To spread the holy word
WIRE WALKING TO GOD...
...Going steadily up
Above the clouds
Balanced with sword
With mail, see the cows
In the field and wispy
Smoke from chimney pots;
I can't see the end of
The wire but I
Believe my soul might
Not be too heavy
I hope
I can go all the way
Up to the big top the big house
Where the big cheese stands
On the true ground.
03/07/06 @ 22:40