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Sep. 2nd, 2017|11:39 pm |
Go on, try it…
Mental illness
Like something out of
A power play
Big scene
The Big Duke in the big scene.
Body language… what swift cross of leg!
Dynamic… that is the word
Angle of body in chair is forward
Tilted, yeah…
But this thrusting guy in sharp suit
With the sunset over metropolis
Out the window (vast window)
He is confused, well ‘frustrated’
Or maybe he is pretending to be.
I understand him.
I know how it feels
To bash inexpertly at keys
To be stumped by summat simple
But come on
They have come on in
The cavalry
There they are in semicircle before him
already
They had been called in before
This is the Big Duke
I told ya
It’s his big scene
Come on
Keep up
Let’s brainstorm
Let’s talk this out
Don’t hold anything back
This is the 33rd floor, ‘brothers’
He might have added
It is a big scene
A 1970’s conspiracy creepiness
In the stream
Of shared tossing and turning
Eddying and gurgling in
The Big Universal Sleepiness
Sharp tap tap
Keen glance
Bristling capacity for action
N friction
You. You there
To a fellow shifting in his seat
let me have it.
Well, says the Scotsman
Softly and carefully
And continues quite well too
Lolling and revealing
Doleful and delicious
Till the sentence runs on a little too long
And the pace really seems to be lag
Behind the charged demand
For a solution
And the attentiveness
Which at first
Had had em hanging on a word like
‘Redolent’
Was withdrawn
Leaving him seem quite young and scruffy
And not really
With it
And he starts to doubt himself
And begins to trail off
Too much honesty was it
Governor?
Oh bugger
Well he finally finishes
With the three words that say
I don’t know
Really.
Have you?
Says the Big Duke
Ever taken a course in public speaking?
If you haven’t, yet
I would recommend it
As it will assist you.
In life
And he moves on
And if you hadn’t noticed
Or weren’t reading this
You would think that
Was it for the Scotsman
But, you know
No
It wasn’t.
For as the talk progressed
And as the men tried
To stem the tide
Of all the senseless
Fucking
Going on there
Out there
In the sun-set-upon metropolis
Out the window
Someone mentioned
Genes and
High-investment
Parenting; the predilection
Thereof
Of certain races
Mmm…
And the Big Duke
Rose out of his seat
And all manners of angles followed him
Oh what thrust!
What movements he considered
He was like an architect and
A master engineer
Calculating arrears
And movements of debt
And succour
And poses and power
And pistons hammering
Numbers
And shackles placed on those
Who would stand
Enterprising fellows
By the Dead hand
And he smiles to himself
And catches
as the night
suffocates vision to the interior
The eye of the Scotsman
And he wonders
You know
Genuinely wonders
If it wouldn’t be advantageous
To take HIM under
His wing
As a high investment
Kind of parenting
‘Redolent’
He thinks it refers to
The colour of the setting sun.
Now, ladies and gents
This is the Big Duke
I told ya
A word he might mistake
But it’s usually for a reason
And he knows
Things
That I could tell you about
But which you wouldn’t believe
So suspend it
For as the men departed to
Run their channels
And their lives
He motioned
For the Scot to stay a while.
You need more drive
He says
You engorge
But you don’t have sufficient
Direction and
Thrust
Ever thought about a new car
For example?
A new K class
One that has had thought
And knowledge
Lavished on it.
Think of where it would take you
In life.
The Scotsman was flattered
With the attention and
What turned out to be an offer
And agreed to report to
A certain dealership
The next day.
And that was that
You might have thought
But the THOUGHT is what the Big Duke is after
You see what I mean?
And it aint waking thoughts
Those are just the resultant
Form from which we can glean
If all the connections are taught
Clicked together neat
You are in Room 314
Tonight
He says to the Scot
Get a good night’s sleep.
You rejoin us around three
In the morning and
If you could open the hotel window
You would hear
Betwikst the odd click of feet
a few hollers
with little gasps in their wake
that linger
Till they’re sucked up by the street.
All, though, is muted here
The net curtains a drawn sheen
And the air conditioning on
In Room 314
The Scotsman turns on his side
And in his softly breathing sleep
enters the car dealership.
Well it is a beast
That is for sure
Sleek, black, the bonnet
Rising in smooth curl of lip
Calm fury in the engine beneath
Sumptuous click
Of door.
He gets in.
It is a dream.
The salesman approaches
Sticks his head through retracted
window
Looks like a detective
From a movie shot
Well?
Well, really. This is
Something says the Scot.
K class comes the confirmation.
The Big Duke sent me
Reports the Scot
Oh I know
Says the salesman
It is yours.
Good lord!
You’ll just need to get it out of the store
I will see you out.
So much power
To control
So much fever
Burning under the clutch
It is wild
And the Scot
Who is a poet at heart
A man who could lie in puffed-up pillows of verbiage
And stretch in synonym
And Preen in pause of punctuation
Alight in alliteration
And so on
Isn’t used to such thrust
Beneath his feet
His last motor was a Mazda
A Small one at that.
And it is a real job to avoid bumps
And scrapage
And keep it purring at heel.
Still he makes it out and is
On the street
Thrust he has
Engorged
Well
Why not?
Just a little direction required.
The sun is up
Early morning
A new Dawn
Neat
Nice to have a patron
And a raw
growl
Rumbling beneath bird song.
He takes a HARD RIGHT
And the Big Duke
Sits up in Bed.
Eyes wide
Tight
And he sees the Scot face
7 barriers that signal
turn back
That scream
Turn back!
But they retract all the same
One after the other
In deference
To what it means
To be the Scot
At the wheel of the beast.
Out now
Beyond tarmacced civility
The road deteriorates
In quality
Pot holes
Endanger
Sand staggers
The traction
The footing
Less sure.
And then he sees a drop
Shrill drop
To river below
Courting, eddying
Giggling and cursing
The City
To sleep.
And there below
The Scot sees all the people who have been here before him
Scrambling at the loose earth of the bank
Shouting to be rescued
Shouting to be saved
They grip each other
Force themselves up
Over each other
But they are not a foothold
For each other
They fall and slide
Back to the current below.
The Scot sighs as
Alarm mounts slowly
In pulses
He places the beast in reverse
To leave those below behind.
He noses the curling lip away
And it grows dark
The ground
Seems not to know what it should be
Like a geography unprogrammed
for
A curiosity unforeseen.
That is enough
For the Big Duke
He turns the light on
Illumination
A wisp
Of a ghost
Gone
He wanders to the window
Puts his hand on his heart
Murmur of resolve
Or Gas?
It is hard to say
This human form
Can betray
Whores and gunfire
Flatulence and suburbia
Elation at the
Unexpected smell of mint
A child’s eyes
Exaltant
Blue bags of extended skin
Under eyes
Skint
The Big Duke
Resolves it all
The temptation
To raise his arms
To have them SHOOK
In gratification
In praise of the charms
of the Great Conductor
is too great
too slake.
The Big Duke
Knows how to keep the melody clean
And Nods over to the bed in Room 314.
Doleful and woeful
The Scot rises
Early
Before the Dawn.
Outside
Seagulls hawk and flap both wings
Picking at the rubbish around the bins. |
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