God…yawns the poem!
I’m back in the land of nod.
Home. Glasgow —> Glasgay!
I awoke in the womb of my bed.
All peace easy and relaxed.
Ready for setting minds on fire
and deluding myself out
of myself and into myself again…
I’m lifting weights now.
I’m serving tables.
Saving green notes.
Polishing my pen’s.
Brushing down the paper.
Eyeing the boys…
readying to get my arse in gear
readying to avoid the ten billion
cliches of being a queerdom!
ready,
like a baby back from nursery
who has just learned to walk
to jump from the buggy and
dart about the place sure as teeth!
It’s amazing how much of a boy I am.
My egghead truly is cloud heavy and sparks
do fly from it when I start to talk
and I often talk in a way that — hmmmm -
how can I say - a spontaneous method
of irrational knowledge based upon the
interpretive-critical association of delirious
phenomena (i.e. surrealism while on the toliet seat)
Note to self on writing: You have the gift.
Now all you need is the box to deliver it in.
I shaved my head to the bone:
now i’m a nazi, a buddhist, a poof
a clone, a convict, an ex-herion addict!
cold in the head.
if you can keep your head
when all about you are losing theirs
then your alot stronger than you look
if you can keep your head
when all about you you are losing it
then perhaps you still have some head
to save!
if you can shave your head
while all about you are growing theres
then perhaps you can afford a hair cut
and they can’t but hey so what! it grows back.
Ok. I’m off now. Flummery over…!
