I’ve been spontaneously smiling today.  I can’t seem to stop.  I believe it’s the prospect of words that has me walking around the house breaking out into ear to ear grins at random.  I’ve started rereading Jack Kerouac’s novel, On the Road, in preparation for my trip to Spain next week.  I’m also taking along some W.H. Auden which I picked up at Waterstone’s yesterday.  I guess it’s true that word choice determines thought choice, which in turn determines emotions and actions.

I imagine revolutions
start in coffee houses
like this one

Down a side street
in Pamplona, below ground
in a place that smells like history

No tourists or would be
writers here only
a merry band of brothers

Who vow to right
the social wrongs of society
through force of arms

A revolutionary makes
revolutions his highest
order of duty

Their fight is for the people
to redeem themselves against
the tyranny of evil men

Who are drunk with the
lust for power and control
and build them Selves up
on the backs of humble men

The guerrilla fighter travels
light for social reform

While I sit and stare
at the ass crack of the girl
who just sat down in front of me

Obscuring my view of the
revolution with a full on assault
against my modesty

And now

Between sips of coffee and
revolution my eyes fall prey
to the horror of her ass crack
creeping out of her blue jeans

And I wonder

Will this be the ass crack
that launched a thousand poets
to burn the topless towers of the oppressor?

The revolution awaits
I hear my call to arms
but first girl put a belt on
save the repressed!

I am one
big mass of jumbled craziness
insanity sweeps over me
urging me somewhere forward
to a place I’ve never been, a road
I don’t know.  I’ve got the shakes again
I want to speed the journey to its end

I’m standing on the edge
of my mind killing time
before I fall into the black
pit and hear my silent scream
echo for eternity.

My mind is
fair to mild
this morning I
sense a storm
thunder hides the conflict
in my head
lightening reveals
her cherry
red pants on my bed
quietly she stands
a rebel between causes
she pauses
but does not
to think
I could not die
for the stars
on her back
your love is
like sugar free tv
She spends her days
in pyjamas
acting out tv
her mama’s yelling
up the stairs
to get a
she tells me
some days she wishes
she could
I push her
up against
the wall
and kiss her
like I mean it
Her cherry red
have me entranced
but like the men in
Holytown I can’t
pin her down
she laughs
because she knows
she’s as elusive
as the wind
and her love
is like
sugar free tv

The world is closing in
I cannot see the sky. Trapped
like the wings of a butterfly between
the fingers of little boys.

The Shadow lingers waiting for me to falter,
And like the panther in the wings,
dark and sullen, ready to pounce
and rip the bones from my flesh

I question the darkness,
but no counsel hear.
Voices sing up from the river
drawing me near like the siren’s song

I wander across the Plains of Moab.
I hear the trumpets sound.
The people kneel before the sullen
Priests and stare.

They cannot shout for me
my soul is to black, and the space
between the dark and the light
is too wide for me to cross.

I pray for the voices to wake me before
I drown, but in the darkness there is no
One to hear the sound that dribbles
from my parched lips in broken prayer.