between here and there there is nowhere

between here & there is nowhere



It’s cold.
an icy wind bites my face with sharp blue teeth.
late. I’m late.
I’m always late, though I haven’t a clue for what.
Hungry and looking for food I walk quickly.
Now and then, I jog, until I remember that jogging kills. Whoa!

Suddenly, I hear music seeping through cracks in a wall of stone,
flute and harp,
wistful Japanese melodies diffuse into the night air like perfume,
a halo of rainbows around streelights,
the roads are like mirrors, reflecting everything, Chacgall in fire and phosphorescence.

I turn up my collar as drops of rain slide chill down my neck.

Near a place they call the Rocks,
my footsteps ring out like 30 pieces of silver on weathered cobbles.
the rain stops and a southerly bends clouds into boomerangs.

soon I am down near the wharves, frozen to the bone.
a big fat moon floats in the harbour like a bent silver coin.
in the darkness a launch cuts through the silence.
closer by, a groan and crying from secret moorings holding unseen boats safe against a rising tide.

From my pocket I remove a bent and crushed cigarette.
Heat from a paper match warms my face for a moment,
but the flame dies as quickly as yesterday

Now hurrying past the black cavemouths of alleys and lanes...
sometimes I hear footsteps in the shadows and I break into a run.
a dog barks,
the cigarette disintegrates,
my coat bursts into flames.
I take it off and piss on it.

relief.

Later...

I stop high on an embankment.
Below, stars writhe like snakes across the water.
I light another cigarette,
Whoa! There’s something in this !
What good luck!

I inhale deeply,
savour the acrid fumes,
buddha on a stick
ahh, yeah.

I think of Madame Blavatsky,
Charles Baudelaire
A draught where my fly is undone...

graffiti on a billboard ...

"consume,
be silent,
die."

"come home Plato, it was only a rash!"


Honey! I’m home!