Chrysalis

we used to  somersault out of the hawthorn bush
onto an old mattress
me and lyndon ross
oblivious to the fact of getting scratched
to smithereens
pulling yourself against the absolute weight of a duff
through the canopy of vicious prickles
was a dive of honour
something more than childishness though
now I see the stake in games that children play
but ours was highly dangerous non-the-less
and that was only one example
believe me there’s a very long list of conker trees
we clambered up and fought against
but that intensity and passion has long since passed
that total embracing of the trunk
and pushing with every fibre
leaving a trail of skin
in the wake of huffing totalityagainst the putrid stink of classroom subsistence
beating forgetfulness into the alert
with all the deviousness that envy projects
by way of a stick and a fist and a boot and a book
with the current population of milton keynes
including cleo lane and dear jonny
in it’s pit
I kept the thing alive as long as I could walk in blackout
sitting there with a bottle of vodka
on my 22nd birthday 60 foot high with wilfred owen
look out below-ing
with the irony of a potential
for throwing up the ransom
for marooned youth
memory
without qualification
in bad faith i'm thinking
if only this was the first world war
I’d have a right to be so bored
in between the bouts of carnage and abuse
of which I’m a direct descendant
like an ancillary monkey
evolving from the  liberal struggle
to get wet dream jobs in the media
wazzoking on about the way things ought
in praise of the struggle our bystanders fought
in the ghetto I was torn please believe me it was -
well...
you can’t go there anymore
to make an anthropological value judgement anyroad
because the council have raised it to the ground
without apology
at a series of all expenses paid meetings where they
voted to give 1,500 quid
to my brother and his mates that’s all they got
to move along and disappear
like creative accountants
for the ghost of general pinochet they are
but there was solace within those expressions of auto derelicted rage
somersaulting from a hawthorn bush
moments of peace hanging upside down covered in sap
bleeding green through the grazes
ringing with energy gained from this supple organism
this playmate this sanctuary
from where you might even be able to see the stink bomb
foaming church of complicity
hell not a little hell even though we weren’t a
liberal cause where hell is only
other people especially if you’re rich or intellectual
knowing the redundant tower of concrete brick has
played itself to death
with a stereo and speakers blaring out the call to pray’s
The same fine wharfedale speakers made by idle craftsmen (sic)
in place of the traditional bell wasted like I was
wasting up a tree
following the course of yellow caterpillars
mushing the scent of leaves and sweat
and creaking bark against the trade off of a suit to
get married to a bank manager in
when I get brought down  from the canopy by a tree
surgeon and get civilised or else
see what happened in bradford though
the yorkshire ripper’s reign
of bearded wide lapel 70’s perma terror came along
and the council cut down the caterpillar tree
so he couldn’t jump out on innocent women from behind them
like all the copper bastard coppers do
thus saving god knows how much on the gardening budget
to spend on astro turf
they did they did it’s true it's true
look it up if you don’t believe me mr and mrs
superscilliest journaloo pinkspots
and the caterpillars crawled up the side
of our council house in seasons to  come
looking forlornly for a decent place to live
like the forlorn place I now sum up when I’m asked
to find somewhere to visualise after a relaxation game
given to me on a photocopied bit of paper
by my sex therapist judy
saying how I should find a safe place
and experience the taste
and I think to myself how on jesus’ earth did I become
as insensitive and severed and debilitated and
spankered as this?
merely by being obsessed with image of abuse
from a spell in a childrens home
when I was four about time to put all that aside
don’t you think it’s a little exaggerated
I can’t take your stinking money I don’t want to give
you dastardly cads such pleasure
can’t you see your reaking breath in the mirror?
the only righteous thing to do is steal it like a
paper diamond anniversary map of suffolk or a
worthless painting not recommended
for investment purposes by david hockney
because that’s the only thing that makes any sense to me
you're barkign up the wrong tree mon cur
shall I say it once again in the welsh knot
do you want to replace the existing tree Your honour?
they don’t  give olympic medals for climbing the
caterpillar tree to be reborn
but if they offered the chance to me
I’d have won the chrysallis of thorns.

http://martincooke.blogspot.ru/2012/02/chrysalis-of-thorns.html