woensdag 24 maart 2010

gastdichter : Michael Dransfield (1948 - 1973)



Parnassus mad ward

for libby

First day she hid in bed
under the covers. Then tried to climb up the wall.
On the third day she was telling a parable:
"there was a dead dog on a road. Rotting. Everyone thought
it ugly. But Christ said, "Its teeth, they are beautiful."'
Overcast Thursday, in the garden
she was picking flowers. 'I like pansies,' she said,
'my friends. They have faces.' Pressed one between the pages
of her sculpture book. It rained, we sat on a bench
beneath a maple whose starfish leaves swam in watery
afternoon. Wet grassblades green day everything green
the absolutest colour. Speaking later of Heine
wondering within myself how if poets become mad
there continues to be such colour and how
if gods shall have been discredited forgotten
there can still be innocents there can still be love.

---

Six months

for Paula

a smoke of tea
a fix
and a good lie
down
the doc gives me
six months to live

won't spend them
staying still

believe i'll
see some country
& love not left behind

---

shit

in the bluejean days
when acid was still legal
we used to sell shit for fourteen an
oz & everything was cool & the DS only had
three cops
now its thrity when you can
get it & the squad has thirty-two cops only we
call them pigs now & the heavies are getting all the
smolers busted so they can lay
smack on everyone

the perfect merchandise

customers for life

we know this cat
lives in Mombasa
where good shit's
dollar a kilo

asked him
what's it like living in Mombasa

been there a year & and he said
i don't know, man

---

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