ripped jeans and flannelled fools

Sunday cricket has never been as good as

the Sunday you came back from London.

we sat on cool grass in the shade

you said : like the Spartans at the Hot Gates.

i said : youd be the hottest chick at Thermopylae !

sunday brunch : bacon & egg roll from a gourmet Jewish deli.

you said : i like how theyve forgotten what kosher means

is it Hebrew ?

the picket fences painted pink.

a Chinaman bowling tailenders out on a dustbowl.

7 fer 92.

im trying to paint a picture of happiness 

before the cloud comes in.

they came in.

in fast rolling cartwheels. 

smelt like yr hair in the morning.

i am remembering all this in a great mall

where its always a perfect 21° under a thousand neon suns.

you are gone.

like the last wicket

middle stump out of the ground.

6 thoughts on “ripped jeans and flannelled fools

  1. i hold my can.
    eat my choc choc.
    staring at you
    a man with a world that i couldn't touch.

    at one stop you said you wanna leave.
    when we moved, you said you wanna stay.
    at one terrace you were so frickin brave.
    but when we walked, you were terrified.

    so then i wondered…
    how can i relate to you?
    how can i feel you?
    you have so many cases that i could only read on fiction books. tales or myths perhaps.
    but obviously not biography, biology, or pathology.
    hope i got more than my ears
    hope i got more than my tears

    and i'm still holding my can
    and i keep staring at you while i can.


  2. ol' cobain played cricket with a mouthful of pills
    and a sackful of breathing bills
    he said i took those coz my stomach's hurtin'
    we said dont touch 'em coz you'll be dead before mornin'

    ol' cobain's checkered flannel shirt, ripped at its elbows
    my curtains flecked with angel's shit, flipped at tomorrows

    before him metals and grind cores are nothing but non-keyboards moanings
    after him petals and wind choires are everything that choke my meanings

    and i'm still hoping to hold my can
    to answer you with a yes and a can
    when deep down inside its all a mess
    that never ends


  3. gimme lithium.
    gimme polly.
    gimme the man who sold the world.

    these cans are now merely cans
    if you're here we can make fun of it
    we perhaps could magic-wand it
    turn it into a flanneled magic-carpet

    it smells like teen spirit
    but i'm just getting old
    and pathetic.


  4. polly said her back hurts
    asked for camomile tea
    and jasmine candy

    polly said her heart breaks
    asked for a-ten-mile sea
    and a lovin' mommy

    polly, come over to daddy
    get ready to meet lucy
    a black-hooded girlie


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