Smoking Area

 At the back, 

That’s where we all will be,

A little free

Away from the spree

Bodies getting sweaty,

The bass a little heavy,

the lines a little heady, 

Lost in this claustrophobic warehouse melody,

Minds swimming uncontrollably,

So they and we will make a hasty retreat,

In search of air and nicotine,

That cloudy little space between,

here and there,

On-lookers stare,

At Us, 

Next to the street

Neither out nor in, 

An agnostic bin,

of worshippers Searching for a light, 

Impatient for a breath that might,

Calm their beating heart,

Its pump a fight,

Focus,

your eyes so wide,

Overgrown children with pupil lakes,

And iris oceans that they sail,

With little tack or gibe or grace,

Just chasing tails,

Gazing into empty space,

As their separating face

Does its best to hold its place,

And hold that sticky hot embrace, 

With lips that curl around the butt,

Who knows with what this cookie was cut

But the cutting wasn't clean 

Just a toddler with plastic shears

Doing its best to prune the tree, 

Help? No one does offer

I'm sorry mate my hands are tied,

my tits, I'm fucking off em. 

Might have to go and spill the beans

tales so old they have lost their sheen

As you spew them up on toilet floors

And cake them on the dripping walls

And share the blood and guts and flaws

Of your own brutal failures

And then you and your words are cradled

In the loving arms of strangers 

Unknown hands that take the weight 

Of truth 

Truth you'd never give your mates

But you don't think twice of loading this samaritans plate

You were best pals straight out of the gate 

Two nags running in unison

No riders,

Free,

Just the two of you

And their kindly eyes as broad as yours

Raking through the bottom drawers

Trying to find the hidden gems 

that you will gladly share with them

Maybe a wrap to ease the pain

Forever Passing go in this endless game

And the story is always the same 

All around Lifelong friends made 

then forgotten in spades 

As wishful business plans form then fade,

You are Falling into retrograde

and the Nausea seems to come in waves, 

And the air is thick 

And the feeling sticks

And It nicks And it Kicks at the back of your throat

A pitching boat a jaw afloat

minds lost in a room of coats

And cloaks and newish folks who share a wetted roach 

And you spill your drink

And the papers just melt away in your hands

Trembling you have lost your plan

And the shiver starts to take a hold

and you cannot filter out the cold

Sucking in more precious calm

As that stranger takes your arm,

As your eyes are wide 

And tired of light, 

And you think that the time is right 

Let’s go back in 

This pill has just about settled in

Let us return to the dark and sweat and body parts

Let us go back to the beating trance

Luminous beings. 

Infinite.

All we need 

Is to fucking dance.