Words that I saw written on an actual door.

The man made of clay,
and an armature skeleton,

whose arm fell off,

and a ramshackle of drunk
Laurel n’ Hardys
on the floor.

They say he’s Irish,
talks about Ireland.
Either Ireland or “an island” –

drinks like an unfamiliar dog.

A well-thumbed Bible,
thrown against the wall,

frantic and important,
the most often stolen book.

Said Matthew,
“why you keep dragging me out
on walks?
My life like a pancake…”

Sad Matthew,
“I don’t care

how many
flowers, birds and animals,
which road sign brings good luck.”

The dragonflies
he imagined
gave his dislodged hand
a clover.


Traditional Ballad – Dying Slowly by Tindersticks, from the album “Can Our Love…” (2001, Beggars Banquet.) Video – Cosgrove Hall Animation Studios

3 Responses

  1. Absolut’ly, couldn’t agree more. Gotta love the Irish. And that is a loverly tune to accompany your absynthe pome,

  2. absynthe porn and islander music, haha, i loved this poem, the sound, the time, the accent, the mood. grandly written, thank you for the pleasant read. my firsst time being on this blog, a nice introduction

  3. […] – bookmarked by 2 members originally found by tallguy171 on 2008-08-15 NO ENTRY – BIRDS IN FLIGHT – bookmarked by […]

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