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And Still I Cannot Wake From Their War (Part III)

by John G.Hall 

Posted: 16 February 2006
Word Count: 385
Summary: more self war
Related Works: And Still I cannot Wake From Their War (Part 2) • 

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Content Warning
This piece and/or subsequent comments may contain strong language.

And Still I Cannot Wake From Their War (Part III)

i'm in a town I've never found
i know it like the back of my hand
i'm into a place unmapped by man
i draw the contours from my memory
i'm in the beginning of this finish

you wriggled in the bed baby faced
you squeezed my hand onto your breasts
you squealed your words between my lips
you undressed yourself before I could
you giggle-fucked up and down my mattress mistress

i'm out of my mind by hook and by crook
i'm inside the silence of this poetry book
i'm the beyond become and the coming gone
i'm drinking in the rain like a naked Gene Kelly
i'm Dylan singing to Guthrie about middle-class suffering

you came out of all proportion to prove your passions point
you gave me everything you had you let me lick your candy heart
you drank my blood until I died and was resurrected by your suck
you entered the torture room on the tips of your painted toes
you rubbed yourself up against the old scratch marks until they opened up
you thought you were the cat's vulva but you drowned face down in the cream
you never did let me wank you, you never did wank me thank you, not properly

i'm the star fucker on every sheriffs unwanted list of traitors
i'm on the radar screen of authority as an inveterate hope lifter
i'm a rag-bagged rage-tagged shag-hagged famous secret up-start
from the underground drinkers clubs of Liverpool and Manchester
(Viva la Casablanca!Viva la Conti! Viva the freedom of the lock-in)
i'm into hiding my terrorism inside a pints Draconian measure but
i'll always be your boozing brother freely buying you another touch

you, you just fucking stand there doing everything all over again
until the sun dives into the six feet of earth every body is given
shining too late to be anything but more matter wanting more mind
lying a dead disappointment to the martyrs of the loving classes
all thoughts of revolution dribbling down your chin of rigorous mortise
the clenched fist salutes of embryos aborted by i-pods and bloody holidays
paid for by benefit crack downs and the flexible credit of Arms Traders

and still i cannot wake from their war.


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Comments by other Members

Account Closed at 07:24 on 17 February 2006  Report this post
Lots of energy in this, and it's a great performance piece. It did seem as if it were two poems though? I wonder about separating out the first 3 stanzas and making another work of that - or maybe, if you want to keep them together, renaming them parts 1 & 2 ...

Wonderful feeling of life though!


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