djtock poetry
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I Mustn’t Love You Anymore
1 It fucks my head to be brave enough to say it but I musn’t love you anymore I have to walk out your fine new door and you can chuck my chair out behind but even though you musn’t love me anymore you will always be on my mind there’s too many people only…
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crashed
dog’s in the kitchen, locked in, barking irene’s sparko on the lounge floor anarchy in the uk’s screeching 1 of your mate’s trying to get out your door there’s ring-pulls scattered all round the fireplace dinosaur cd rack’s bust where I fell you’re sleeping all over broken cd cases and your chesterfield’s got a foul…
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Future Song
I drink too much to work to eat to love To talk to laugh to think to ask to shove To see to seek to seize to cry to call I drink too much to any verb at all I cannot tell terror from a tower Horror from a hair hero from a whore Perhaps…
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Still Life, Remembering
In the life I’ve come to, people stand at the bar, talk pleasantly as they drink, and do not stare, pop glasses on to scour the papers, poke at crosswords, tentatively, and sometimes joke. Most of them smoke, and most who do not cough. This is the life I’ve come to. Call it love. Call…
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The Woman Wants Me Shot Down
The woman with the radiance of nuclear spillage waggles an ear at a bothering fly and tags shut the envelope of a day with a dry out-pointing tongue. Her eyes are inefficient sentinels harried with orders, grim as cardinals facing ordure. She has windows in her backside, sits sharply, sees everything. Her loneliness once owned…
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4 Endings to a Nightmare
You junk a plug in Your skull and blow yourself. Good Someone knows your vote. You swing a cord up On the high joist and dangle, Patience as end play. You screw off the lid From a canister of bleach, Glug, wretch, palpitate. You stare at a screen, Resolve yourself into its Creditations: bliss. (David…
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In my pub over my Guinness
In my pub over my Guinness plugged into Clover Over Dover on my white-skinned i-pod to out-hear the music turned loud and public over the pub speakers, bugged at its max vol. It’s Blur for me now, but it was Bird apple-scrappling, sax tootling scales at melodic speed and grappling to catch on the tonic.…
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A Drinking Couple’s Love Lament
I must ask you what you think love is, when love is not what love was when first we quenched thirst with drink both drinking finding just what love was. Since we’d never found what love was seeking love through normal means like campuses and offices, or chip-shops, parks, in staff canteens, in garages we…
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Now we’re at least talking once again
Now we’re at least talking once again, or, at least, sitting in the same room – well, at least for more than a moment. The Guns of Navorone have boomed and now there’s quiet. Krakatoa’s sleeping for a while, and almost purrs. There’s been, of course, silence like this before. An armistice, a shift in…
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Random Writing Thoughts
I stare around my room At all the books And think of author’s scribbling out the years And of their family’s dark looks. You could not live the way I do And I could not live your way Some doors are meant to be walked through And some are not to be knocked on Up…