Serious Poem Alert

Look out! here comes a serious poem
Avoid it at all costs
It’s a pompous bastard at the best of times
Like a broken-hearted bore at the bar
Who has to tell everyone
Just how much damage was done
And when you look you realise
Aw shit! It’s me!
The author of your own demise

Really what I want when that mood comes
When it tries to set me up on the stool
Is to hear nonsense in a cosy voice
Up close:

Sipping tea with a group of gambling ants
Laying bets on sugar lumps
Or a fat and irreligious monk
Who has got the hump
With God and upped and just run naked
To a cellar to get drunk

When I get that feeling
Sometimes dawn or maybe late
That profundity is here
I don’t want words of wisdom
I trip the wire, set the siren off
Stick my tongue in vices
Break my pencils in the river
Eat mahogany or oak
And get tired among the carnivales
Dancing on my neck . . . . .


London, March 2006