"buddha's mistake," "the mystery trend," and "alec station"

buddha's mistake

buddha's mistake
was talking about it
he should have kept
his epithany to himself

as soon as you
explain it
to others
it causes trouble

same mistake christ made
same mistake krishna made
same mistake crowley made
same mistake carroll made

write it down
it becomes what it isn't
render it in words
and it imprisons you

 


the mystery trend

a twitch in my static devils come devils go until I know who i am by
now know the distinction between will and best wishes know the
lock on my garden gate is easter is coin and key can't find my way
home melissa we distant co-movers we fuck back birdsong fuck

back dawn we dove-tail join fuck back new hampshire blues send
my troubles find a way to a swept corner melissa marries young
reads law john the baptist cuts off his own head and einstein tosses
in his notebooks i carve her name into my wall think i know how to

best make use of the logic of rain as rain unravels of 'i want all
things you want but in reverse' melissa say 'what's his and where am
i alone' melissa say 'this world is the will of god' melissa say taps
cigarette ash stardusts away drinks my wine pony-ties her hair as if

I hadn't already horse-shoed her some itch some latest stitch kill
myself with meaning with everything is significant breath so
stuttered with naming not me so stifled by silurian time i am not
her lidded words I few-thousand visit this planet I wooden ship I

stare out nature into the million snubbing immortal yet suicidal
stars see no horizon farmboy in the city this is the way wait for me
this isn't the time for lovesongs history ever turn pages i'm the gun
you're the bullets think about what a friend had said in 1969

 


alec station

this is the shirt i'm
wearing tomorrow
these are my papers
these are my filters
this is my pocket
my sunday evening comes
and i've got the same blues
as every other fucker

yahweh spake
this land is the land of my people
​allah spake
get this scum out of my desert
​america spake
maybe we can help you out here

i curl myself to jill
she is night
was made for
belongs to
teaches me how to
spell new york
she don't lie
her tower to the sun
her razorwire mirror
​monterey empties her

in mosul swinging feet
tap against a lamp-post
hostages under flag on live tv
viewer vote determines
who gets beheaded first

i serve love
am berlin-done
keep record of every second
say thanksgiving prayer
for your children die too quickly
waste the flag
they were born to

i serve love
am unfortunate son
prints of my fingers dusted
ink still wet
i know my instruction
my table-turn
in temple days behind me

Darren Francis

Darren Francis writes and makes music. He is the author of Spell, Skin, and - in collaboration with Simon Lewis - Jack Palmer & The Unspeakable Thing. He was a member of the industrial band Cubanate in the mid-1990s and has recorded the spoken word albums Uforia, Future Ghosts, and God Thing, and six albums with the band Logos. For further information please visit www.darrenfrancis.co.uk.

 

 

Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Thursday, June 23, 2016 - 23:19