pub

Walked from the emptiness

of a grey cold flat

onto grey cold streets

made greyer by the seeping

misery of rain

that isn’t quite rain.

Walked the dank streets of oblivion

to a bar, the bar.

There’s the smiling faces.

Josh like a son

smiles and big brain

Big Mike with

gentlest smile on earth.

Dylan walking his own path

spreading happiness.

Kayde constant rock and rolling.

Billany smiles

and flashes glimpse

of third eye 

behind hair and a grin.

Sharing Rimbaud.

L’eveil jaune et bleu des phosphores

Blanche with a whole body

full of love for nearly

everything.

Beers arrive.

Foam sliding

down glass.

Cold and comforting.

Makes puddles

on the table

to curses and laughter.

Toby’s search for freedom.

I sit feeling like a shade.

The world flows around me

I feel abstract

thinking of Camus

and lovely Kerouac.

Existential self pity.

Outside for a fag

they burn down 

into lungs and air.

Distracted by emptiness

finger burns.

we’re making like

happy bums.

Hogging the duke box

Billany and I

shout along

out of synch

and tune

Dirty old town

dirty old town.

We toast aloud

Jamisons and water

I think of kisses

long gone now.

sexless senses

sing songs of 

older sorrows.

Existential missives

curse their way

through questing mind.

 

Kill Them All ►

Comments

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raypool

Tue 5th Feb 2019 17:21

I'm with this every step of the way Phil. An inner documentary sculpted with the guts and gore of experience - good bad and indifferent. I sense an isolation that the poetic mind can find itself in at times, and having read Camus myself know the fundamental flaws, and the restlessness angst of Kerouac. The last three lines are gold plated, making sense of the poem. The pub is a place to reveal and hide at the same time.

Ray

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