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Angel, the morning after heroin first time. I was your boy.
Once, we were Gods ignoring each other. Rats come out
The back of dim wood lacquered mantle-piece. Sweat drips
On the sleeve notes of hoi-polloi zeitgeist poet who finds
Sirens in bluebirds’ song & only owns a bin-bag full of postcards.
We all feel as bad as each other so who doesn’t want
Saturday night to end. As I wake up in the shower,
I am ten different People; I am Dean Moriaty.
I am the kid that got bullied at school. I am Fred Dibnah.
I am Pablo Picasso. I am Pete Doherty. I am Norman Crabtree
I am William McGonagall. I am Rembrandt Clarke. I am not
Doing very well. I am a bad Simon Armitage Impersonator but
Can also do a mean Elvis Presley. Then last of all, I am me
With nothing but the want of the axis of your body, undressed,
When eyes blink burn light blinking truth, just like an angel
Joseph R. Clarke Is A Poet. Poems he has written have appeared on t’internet, anthologies, sewn into the back of bus seats & recently appeared in Burning Eye Books Anthology of Alternative Young Poets, Rhyming Thunder. In his spare time he is an amateur hermit.