Thursday, June 18, 2015

The fire left only the chimney stack standing
The girl with the face had a daisy in her hair
And threw it into the rubble.
The paper on the counter ran a cover story about the astronauts
They looked like embryos floating listless among the space between the stars.
The girl with the legs parted her legs
A song cried out and people danced
I asked the barman to turn on the racing, Royal Ascot.
I'd come from Connemara this morning
Sure you'd have to come from somewhere.
The radio played a song I'd never heard the likes of before.
It was by Roderigo y Gabriela.
A man walked by in crutches, he paused where the bridge rises.
His left leg was missing. He carried on.
The radio said some gowl from Limerick went to prison for dangerous driving. A man lost a son and a leg in the crash.
I lost all the money I'd made in the boom, in the crash.
The houses burnt down last night.
The girl with the face threw a flower into the ashes.
I was in the pub keeping out of the cancerous sunlight, getting drunker and drunker.
The girl with the legs played a song about love with her sweet lips.
I bet on the 2 favourites. It's a safe bet. It's a short flat race.
I won a small percentage profit.
I'd bet my house on the race.
This time next year we'll be rich as Astronauts
One time at band camp
There's something about Mary
If I knew then what I know now I wouldn't have sent her my amputation
It seemed like a good idea at the time
I remember thinking at the time, this is a good idea, this is definitely a good idea
I was strapped to a rocket full of rocket fuel
My mother ran into the room and changed the channel 
We watched Challenger explode again and again
There was a teacher among them she said
It didn't scare me at all
I still wanted to be a spaceman

Monday, June 15, 2015

A desiccated heart
Stares at me
From the back of a pack of fags
Discarded on the road
Among the daisies The big daisies,
that are more like flowers than wild weeds
The daisies you’d be sure to wear in your hair
If you’re going to San Francisco
As a hippy in the 60’s.
On the internet John Snow is dead
It probably happened in a book first
One of The big books
For the gobshites to read
During the big game
Love Stories and Great Battles abound
The astronaut aborts
Out here in the stars we’re like embryos
Down here we're like embryonic Astronauts
contemplating Jazz and Abortion