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These
revelations precipitated my departure from home, my arrival
here, today.
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1 |
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#1
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Long
ago, life was a rhythm of speech.
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2 |
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Back
then when the bile had me, I would sop it up and blaze
on yes. And sit waiting for hours and years, dissolving
thick wads of pulp — pile after pile — into
little of note but a puddle of slop and phrase I wrote.
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3 |
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I
fled to my bunker on the peninsula and shivered over a
crisp stack of copy paper while the drizzle bore down
from beyond to poison the reservoirs and micturate on
countless thirsty citizens of North County Dublin.
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4 |
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What
better contagion in all Ireland than the relentless pissing-down
rain, you tell me?
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5 |
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Seeps
through your stout flushed thin skin, scorns your pathetic
phylactery, lunges down the filthy twisted streets of
Cuffsgrange and Clifden till you're up to your bollox
in frigid bog water, or admiring your private menace in
the ice-blink of a kitchen blade. That grim grey downpour
stalked another fateful day.
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6 |
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I
saw the people of Ireland crumpled prostrate on stricken
lawns and ruptured tarmac, tip-heads where they lay. Lips
crushed to the dirt in supplication. The Nation sucked
the canker from the Earth. I drew the drape.
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7 |
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All
I wanted, all I ever wanted, my life to be empty, spare
to create.
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Yes,
I lay up in my bed most days and I listened to life in
the world outside. Such grief poured in through the mail
and clogged up the hall, I made it foul washed up on the
tide.
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9 |
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I
ate some fruit in the mornings, maybe half a kiwi with
a seedless grape, and I took my meal at four (if you're
not getting any exercise it's difficult to lose weight).
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10 |
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Sometimes
voices called and sometimes we parlayed, but mostly I
left them talk to the machines. Then the machines spoke
with me (they never want but to tell).
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11 |
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I
put my complete faith in the web and in my monthly subscription,
to International Pipe Magazine.
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12 |
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