still waiting
On the way to
The park to feed
The ducks
On a late sunny
Autumnal afternoon
Waking through
Mountains
Of golden leaves
We passed four
Guys sitting on a
Knee high wall
Dressed in Oxfam
Bearded, hair long
One holding a beaten
Acoustic guitar
'They look like
Like the next big thing,'
My girlfriend whispered
'They properly
Sound like the last
Big thing,'
I replied
We continued to pass
As the one
Holding the guitar
Started to strum
A tired melody
walking home after a night out
With haste I pass
The mad screams
Of a drunken vagrant
His midnight confessions
Enthral only his
Demons; his past life
I worse for wear
Scream for my
Bed, cold and empty
I pull my thin
Coat to me
As the rain begins
I lower my head
Struggling to walk
Against the cold wind
At this time of
Day 2 or
3 in the morning
Three things cross my
Mind; suicide, sex
And that vagrant screaming
It comes
The dance had ended
The light
Faded
And went out
I stood and
Watched
A tear welling
In my eye
Sadness
Pulling at my soul
The coffin
Was lowered
And I knew
You were
In there
You'd once told
Me you preferred
Oak to pine
They had a
Wake
But you'd never wake
In this world again
The rose
I lay a week later
Was blown away by the wind
a midnight drive
after a hard
evening working
on our little literature
magazine, me and
mike decided to take
a drive into the countryside
mike had some gear
on him we were frustrated
with magazine and needed
some inspiration
the gear had always
helped in the past
it was about midnight as
we took the drive
it was summer so although
night it wasn't too cold
we took a couple of cans of
beer with us, we found that
we got rather thirsty after
a smoke and a beer
always went down well
it was a short drive
about ten minutes
i had found this nice isolated spot
on a very quiet country road
i say road, it was more of a dirt track
no motherfucker goes down
there especially at night
only frustrated magazine editors
with a deadline to meet
we were soon cruising
away from the town, the bright
lights and the cynicism
we headed out towards a
town called Woodbridge
i took a left down a steep
country road then a right
then a left and parked
up in my spot
i had spent many a hour
here on my own, I'd reread
on the Road here and
i'd taken many a girl down
here both metaphorically
and physically
i wound down my window
and lit a straight
it was quiet, so quiet apart from
a distance hum
of a motorway
either side of us were vast ploughed
fields, above
a vast expanse
of black, dotted with white specks
no fucking light pollution
a heavenly peace descended on us
i felt as Mike did, a spiritual peace
mike set about making a J
he was good at it, better
than me, my fingers being too
fat, they had better uses
the smell of grass
wafted around the
car as Mike burnt the edge
of the block of hash
crumbling the
burnt edge into the paper and tobacco
it smelt good
mike rolled the J
big and fat
and lit that mother up
he took a deep hit
held it down for a few seconds
and exhaled
he passed it across to me
i took a good hit on it
it tasted good
went down smooth
i felt better already
mike cracked open
a can
and took a swig
it dribbled down his chin
'argh that's better'
he sighed as the liquid went down
his throat
he past the can to me
and I pass the J back to him
'that's good stuff' I told him
'yeah, it's fucking great' he replied
i took a swig of beer and felt
like a King
we stepped out of the car
and gazed up at the sky
the smoke was good
really good we talked about
the world around us
we talked about life
and women trying to
reach the an absolute
conclusion to both subjects
trying to crystallise human
existence and human love
we discussed the philosophy
of Bill Hicks, the mantra of Bukowski
right now anything felt possible
we felt free we felt like the last
two thinkers on the planet
mike went back to the
car and rolled us each another J
i finished off the can and
cracked open another one
i stood and thought
about the magazine
it was going well
but there was something missing
i knew it Mike knew
and if we didn't find it
our readers would know it
mike returned and
passed me my J
he lit his up and I
lit up mine
we talked about the mag
trying to figure out what we
needed
the aim of the mag
was to publish the best
in new modern writing
we were sick with 'safe'
writing we wanted to find
the next Bukowski or Ginsberg
or Fante we wanted writing with
balls writing with guts
mad broken prose
inspirational words
but we hadn't had the sort
of submissions we wanted
the magazine was in danger
of becoming like the rest
full of dreary ramblings about
falling snow and weeping trees
falling snow and weeping trees
had their place but not
in our mag
the gear was having
the effect that we desired
ideas were coming fast
we felt at one with nature
the sky!
the fields!
eternity!
love!
everything was clear
'let's take a walk'
mike suggested
we wandered, smoke
in hand down the dirt track
the stars over head looked
down on, the fields either
side holding onto us
we puffed away on our smokes
disappearing into the black
i turning round
i could no longer see the car
looking ahead
i could see only the night
i lost sight of mike
'james, you fuck'
he shouts
'i'm here' I reply
'it's so fucking dark' he mumbles
i can't see him but
i can see the end of his
smoke illuminating as he inhales
'this is fucking great, I, we need
moments like this, peace, solitude
away from the rat race and people. I need
a drink..' mike tells me
i agree but as I do from behind mike
some lights seem to be coming
towards us
'shit' I exclaim
'what' mike replies
'it's a car'
'oh fuck,' mike shouts
'lets get back to the car'
we turn and run
the lights behind getting brighter
'we're not going to make it'
mike screams 'we're going to look
like queers, it could be the police'
'quick behind this tree,' I shout
we both scramble up the bank at the
side of the dirt track and crouch
behind the tree, a tree which would struggle
to conceal a lamp post
the car lights blind us
and as the vehicle passes
a middle aged women
looks back at us, frightened
the car drives down the track
and disappears
we emerge from behind
the tree
'shit, that was scary' mike states
'yeah, it was'
'let's get out of here' he says
'ok, let's get back to suburbia' I reply
'that could have been a car of
violet thugs, high on crack
out to fuck somebody up' Mike mentions
we walk back to the
car
I smile to myself
and think that nowhere
that you can go
nowhere untouched
nowhere sacred
everywhere you go either
someone has been there before you
or just behind you
even at one in the morning in the
middle of nowhere there will always
be someone else
searching for peace, searching for solitude
or perhaps just on their way home
back in the car
we finish the can of
beer and smoke one
more J
i start the engine
i'm high as the clouds
and a little drunk
i pull away
i drive down the dirt track
take a left then a right
and I'm back on the
open road
the gear and the
alcohol have really hit me
they work their
way through my veins
and to my mind
i'm on cruise control
i feel totally gone
mike tries to talk to me
but I hear only music
coming from his mouth
i drop Mike off
and drive home
the next day
i can't remember dropping
mike off
i can't remember getting home
and I can't remember any of
the ideas that we might of
had for the magazine
careless
My scream I'm
Sure resonated
Around the flat
At the same time there
Was a crack in the
Sky and the thunder roared
My hand was
Cut my blood
Spilt my pain
Unquestionable
Under the cold
Tap I placed my
Hand looking out of
The ground floor window
I watched the rain
It poured
My blood poured
There were no plasters
In the house the blood
Would just have to stop
In its own time just
As the rain would
