SAINT THOMAS, VERSES 153 - 161
Mark Traill
5 June 2008, 05:40Ajuna means party and party means go
To the drugs and the women and the music that’s so
Alive in my rhythm it pounds on my breast
That dances for children who flock from the west
Hedonistic melodies [sip rum and smoke weed]
Pop Ketamin and Valium with pharmaceutical speed
Grab pleasures, make fun in the light of existence
Pushing the boundaries of childlike persistence
Narcissus gazing, I feel like a winner
Or is that my conscience refusing the sinner?
Kaleidoscope mindscape is easy to swallow
If you are a man who cares not for tomorrow
But only the beats and the drums and the bass
And the pills I do swallow, I’m out of my face
Hug strangers, trace movements and dance on the hill
Decide to stay longer where time is to kill
And meet my next face, so many before
Americano macho he moves like a whore
So why my friend now? There’s no common ground
Talk shit in the Jungle to the beat that just sounds
Like my ego inflation, another epoch
Another experience my mind needs to block
Bequeath your candy, that sugar so brown
The party’s revolving, I puke on the ground
He carries with him
A weight of indifference
Unmovable
Despite my inference
“So what Chris
If you are complicated
Welcome to the human race
Though it’s somewhat belated
Daddy’s a rock star
Who showed you no love
Your mothers a whore
Like the one in your tub
You loved my mouth
You blessed it and said
The devil’s in love
He’s warm in my bed”
Why you Chris, why you?
Your nouveau addictions
And sardonic mind
You’re like opium
You’re the devil
And I am blind
Masochistic
Machinations
Man of cash from
Massachusetts
Laughing behind my back
With nymphs
Who don’t look…
…quite lucid…
Your pretty demons
Draped in your guns
You ride them on Enfield’s
Then after you run
‘Cause you’re so precious
Poor little boy
There there
Don’t cry now
Take this and enjoy
Promise the world
I thought it was more
As simple as that:
A hustle, a score
Paradise within
As well as out
It’s cosy in here
There’s never a drought
When brown lines do flicker
In the silver of leaves
I’m on first name terms
With my anger and grief
And nothing else matters
Not even nothing
When matters
Make matters
Then your
Making something
That never did matter
So stop that thought there
What’s the matter?
Brain matter?
Did you think
That I cared?
What is the day
Gregorian planner?
Chill on the beach
Shoot feni slammers
Then back to my hut
Calangute’s finest
Does sit in my belt
And offer me kindness
“Got an idea man!
Seen a waterfall
Up the road
Man! It’s beautiful
Like me and you
Hop on a bike!
Not the moped man…
You a fucking cissy?
You’ll never keep up on that
With this petroleum hippy”
“Oh yes, good idea
You’re such a rational guy
I’ve never driven a car
Less an Enfield or a bike
Apologies your smugness
I’ll get my license sharp
Then afterwards
You won’t see me
In heaven with my harp”
Perola do Oriente
Glides in my transom
My head in a triangle
The setting is awesome
Long dusty roads
That give an impression
Of a country inside me
With foothills and legends
I’m spanning gold harbours
I’m ranging the headlands
I’m natural at this
I didn’t need lessons
But maybe just one
It came as a shock
That the wheel on my bike
Wouldn’t move through the rock
Angel’s harps are in a mesh
Thomas hops onto his leg
Then falls, hits teeth upon the road
And winces when the pain does grow
Blood congealing slow and soft
But no tears yet at least I’m not
The toast of hell I’ve still got time
For my redemption
But first
Brown
Lines
