the beach

used to be a beach here

we played in the sand

you'd never know now

without being told

hey, shut up, grandpa

everyone knows that

it's all your fault for

being so old

hey, shut up, grandpa

why don't you go and

dig your own grave and

jump in the hole

hey, shut up, grandpa

we're all so young and

we're all so smart for

being so young

nobody young was ever dumb

used to be peace here

we lay in the grass

you'd never know now

without being old

hey, shut up, grandpa

it's all your fault for 

having been born and

living too soon

hey, shut up, grandpa

here's a new product 

we hope will let us

move to the moon

hey, shut up, grandpa

here's a new model

throw out the old one

things'll be fine

nobody young was ever dumb

the out of town news

[[ Someone looking at the old local paper online. ]]

The out of town news 

is a website these days.

They don't print the paper now

cause nobody pays.

The out of town news

is half ads and half blogs,

a rewritten press release,

and pictures of dogs.

The out of town news 

used to get here by mail

as clippings in letters 

from mom without fail.

The out of town news

used to get here by phone.

That phone's disconnected

and I'm out here alone.

The out of town news 

is arrests and convictions,

but you always knew those 

nice houses were fictions.

The out of town news 

is a list of obituaries.

Hope someone's still home there

to feed their canaries.

The out of town news 

used to get here by mail

as clippings in letters 

from mom without fail.

The out of town news

used to get here by phone.

That phone's disconnected

and I'm out here alone.

Bluebird Matchbox

[[ A transformation of an actual childhood visit to relatives in Dundee and Perth. The long wait for adults to finish visiting grows to an evolutionary scale. The Bluebird Matchbox (actually a Corgi, says the internet) was produced to keep me or my brother or both of us busy while adults talked for the last time. ]]

In childhood I am guided in

to meet the ancient Britons known

to other ancient Britons then

as Helen, Bunty, Joe. All gone.

They are all shades of vein and chalk

and pebbledash and cardigan

and close-cut grass and gravel walk

and kindly smiles all wired in.

I play while they discover fire 

and pour a drink to warm their skins,

and ages pass while they admire  

how fingers grow where once were fins.

The Circling Song

Forget the crawling aliens

That's all you under the skin

You will get out of this on your own

without magic medicine

The vultures are circling, Joni,

immobile in your chair;

the vultures take souvenir snaps 

to say "I was there".

Don't look to gods or astrology

The stars don't know you exist

Everything you are is you 

and everyone you've ever kissed

The vultures are circling, Joni,

hold close but have no doubt,

the vultures will pose with red mouths

and pull your insides out.

Remember the first confinements

Remember every long day 

You can get out of this on your own

get up and walk away 

Pull up your stockings 

get up and walk away 

the meanness of work

They put up new buildings
as fast as they can
tear down the old ones.

One fall, one morning,
one more old building
with that ornate facade

is fenced in and blasted,
pulled down on its face,
and just trucked away.

Spring come the excavators,
cranes, steel and glass,
then twenty empty stories.

a house afire

[[ Mystery in death. This is a song about death coming upon someone and how the rest of us can only gather around and watch it happen. Another version would be (will be?) gathering round to say goodbye at the docks when a ship sails. It depends on how one goes, on how disabling and silencing it is. ]]


She got on with death

like a house afire.

She felt the spark inside,

like a new connection,

It was warming, kindling, 

then it caught and poured

from chamber to chamber

until it was done.

She was silent 

looking out through her windows

at the night

She was silent 

looking back at us circled

looking in

Until it was done, 

all we could do 

was stand at a distance,

stand and admire.

She and death got on

like a house afire.

advent

Facebook says 

it's my birthday 

today, a Sunday. 

My pill organizer

also tells me

today is Sunday.

It's empty. Time 

to take stock and

fill up the week.

This one makes 

my blood thin.

I need just half.

This one slows 

my heartbeat:

thump. Thump.

This one skims 

the sticky fat
from the surface.

This one makes 

a stroke today

slightly less likely.

This one's only 

sour aspirin 

shaped like a heart.

now where were we?

[[ it's a sort of country music love song gone wrong -- or a couple of heroin addicts ]]

there's nothing pretty
about getting old
you turn down the heat
but I'm always cold

I count my pills out
you jab your skin
we're good for a day
the state that we're in

but isn't it all so much prettier than turning blue?

All our clouds
blow away
we turn silver
against the day
against that day

look at these photos
how old were we then?
how old are we now?
how old will we ever be?

dust off that mirror
is that you and me?
never saw this coming
how old will we ever be?

we were so skinny
when you came to stay
do you remember anything
before yesterday?

do you remember
when we walked the earth?
we had nothing but sky
and the sky was enough

now I count my pills out
you jab your skin
we're good for a day
the state that we're in

but  isn't it all so much prettier than turning blue?


||: turn up the heat :||

falling into the well

[[ a love song, I think - falling in love, but also falling in orbit ]]

we are always 

moving forward

we are always 

falling down

this is how 

we measure all,

all of our time

how many times 

have we been 

round the sun?

how many times 

have we seen 

summer come?

and go?

how many times 

have we felt 

this coming snow?

you and I 

are always falling

falling into the well

you and I go 

round the world 

together every day 

you and I go 

round the sun 

together every year 

don't get tired

of going round

grandfather never

grandfather never [[ as if that's his name ]]

quite back from the war 

went to the corner store

never came back again [[ vanished again ]]

found him out gibbering 

under a bush

gave him high voltage

to lay him out low

grandfather never

sees machines coming

knows where he's been

there's a village back there