Tuesday, October 28, 2014

a nod is as good as a wank to a blind horse

Fig. 1 (deleted)




Pablo flicks his tongue like a checking pencil. Convinces himself the tooth is more or less intact.

The girl in the yellow sou'wester regards him suspiciously. Pivots on a pirouette almost as the pail arcs low, kissing plastic. Conjoined skeletons and noodles raining down, loitering in shaman's margins.

I should give a shit.

Seen Paterson lately ?
Not three days since.
Rosetta sniffs. Fishes in her anorak for pen and scribble pad. At half past nine between the roaches.

Bless me father, for I have sinned. 
Three days and thirteen prawns since I last dropped a dime.

I am no good at the readings. The surmising. The bleeding on the unicycle.

Faltering trajectories.

My fingers are rosy only from moving saucepans around. Dishes.

I live only for the wine. Those little courageous smiles. Fluttering above soapsuds while cutlery drowns.

Rosetta is a motherfucker. A window propped ajar. One thing or another. Nothing.

I listen to the plumbing roar. Idle. Watch the woman across the street crawl out her window to administer to birds.

No one squeals around here. We are tight lipped. Focused. Inured to distress.

They can all go fuck themselves. Gargle the blood of Christ.

It is October. Crisp. Folded on itself as linen with eyes carved out. Concise.

2 comments:

uniplmr1 said...

Jesus Christ Ian, just must be that Oxford is just too fucked up to handle so much soul....good thing we got the internet. Now, I'm going to root through my records until I find it.

ib said...

I have a feeling that I'm wallowing. Papering and re-papering over the tears in the fabric. I'm not sure where I'm going with any of this, or whether I've simply hit a dead end. Time will tell.