A Night Ends at the Parliament

I hate saying this, but I am too busy to write anything new today. So, reaching back into the younger years again. From 2002 this one from a night on Dublin town with Mundy.
Good ol' times.

“A Night Ends at the Parliament”

As the fire pits in your belly take notice by the rest of the aged world, you must never forget those little games you once played, a child in self-taught banishment. You can gaze like a shaman or burn like a bride. You used to wonder aloud to the shearling clouds in your southern axes, to come along and entertain your grander notions of being loved; those awfully contrived schemes of forgetting the whole of the outside world’s heartbeats, hitting like raindrops.

Eternity in your ink dries up and you’ve nowhere bright to go but your own backgarden – clutching onto modern convenience and salty residency in the front room. So Warhol never struck a chord like dancehall did open up my bleeding limbs, doeful eyes that, bright the sight, teaching could possess, when strangest courage takes to the stage. Accepting yourself to be wise in the face of free drinks left at the back doorway. The underwater railway into your hometown, breathing raucously. Late night noise patrols slamming the silence in your wide-eyed brain, while others scratch their chins in marked stupidity and you turn away from us all to keep your fantasies to yourself without even them whispering, to flicker past your eyes.

Brown, ailing paper bags of poaching, angry stews from Saturdays come around the streets end at you, beating in two your own prizefight – without the cameras, without your gleam. But will you not open up on this terror trail, feel the skins between most stones, sink your heels, caress those souls that slink past in genuine stream.

Keep your palms over your heart’s core, boy. Step forth, strove those gentle hallucinogens in a continuous motion. Sail on with the fearless shake, a whirling dervish in ascent. Sing on, to praise every pious, worthwhile scream in the inner universe – the rest, from land, your pathway swims upon – out into the all, that truth cannot shake, out into your own very greatest beyond.