“It’s
crazy out there!”
I’m tired of
& from performativeness –
The sound of
a car starting
--
City livin
I’m sick of
the way I speak
I’m sick of
my words
Conversation
is impossible at the moment
It all
sounds tinny
I’m sick of
topics
I’m sick of ‘being
clever’
I feel counterfeit
But silence
eludes me
The pull of
the people
I feel I
should be quiet
It would be
good for me
But I’m
unable to
The Celtic
knot goes on & on & on
In the Angle
As Roy
Harper sang
I’m “flat
broke & beserk”
Mental
illness & money mate!
Even in my
poems
I’m always
talking TO someone
I’m always
talking to myself
My Sabbath
overwhelms me
I can’t
stop/rest
All I hear
is people –
City living
Yeah I GET
IT:
BREATHE.
MEDITATION. etcetera
Still feels
like an action
This man
needs
Needs the
love of a woman
It’s not
meant to be this lonely
Questions,
Basho
?
I write…
On my
attempted Sabbath
I guess at
least it’s dark
But I can’t
rest
It just
becomes a different kind of work
Writing’s
the only thing that makes sense,
Moses.
The knot
appears endless
Man the
Irish soul in me
Is givin me
the shits
Still,
I guess
shisha is a stimulant
As was that
big pot of tea
As Freddy
Mercury put it
“I want to
break free”
But everywhere
lies concrete, glass & steel
& the
madding fuckin crowd
I love you
guys
But I’m in
mourning from my late brother
& I’m
tryin to act like I’m ok
To fit in
with your commercial interests
The one I
love from afar, oh apparition
Would you
please take my pain away?
--
I’m
surrounded by cerebral people
My work is
cerebral
With a bitta
heart
I could do
with thing
--
Slowing down
Rolling around
on the ground with you
But ur so
far away
I think Dante
Made a lot
more sense than the philosophers
Without love
What an
empty sterile life
So many of
my friends
Are self
harmers & suicidal
&
relativize it & say
“so’s everyone”
The hermeneutics
of suspicion
Won’t lay
with me in MY bed!
The more you
think
The more you
stink
--
Thank God
for the soldier’s joint
That’s right
kids
Hold onto
your roaches
Hegel fuck
off!
I’m not
dialecticaling
Opine bish
Opine bish
As David
Briggs’ mantra
“the more
you THINK
The more you
STINK”
Which I
would think you might translate as
“endless
dialectical is lame ass!
Thank God
this poem’s wrist slashing
Was interrupted
by spliff!
But yeah,
big brother’s dying sucks!
& Tim
Hemensley’s so right about
“the supernova
that never quits!”
The weaving
The loom
& thread
& needle craft coming up to Christmas
It’s a panic
being poor
No sooner am
I paid than it’s gone
I’m not a
humble hobbit
I’m a sic
kunt
Who likes to
go out on the town
If just for
a shisha & tea
As often as
a drink
It’s conceivable
that in a generation
This poetry
will become incomprehensible
So outnumbered
are poets
By content
creators
In a
language that changes so rapidly
How did ‘literally’
become ‘figuratively’
In not too
much time
I might be
better off making nonsense noises & interesting sounds
For Look!
The Canon.
The guardians
think they represent Poetry
They might
as well represent a stuffed pig
Maybe I’ll
edit the next book ‘high’
Or is that
too ‘devil may care’? +
But despite
it all
I feel the
love everywhere
As ragged
& damaged & kinky as its angels are
I’m just in
a lot of pain
So I’m
grateful
I really am
To the lot
of you fuckers
I feel it
beyond words
That’s right
Descartians
Objective consensus
reality
I’m sick of
crazy fuckers
& figuratively
you could say
That ‘everybody’s
crazy’
But literally
it’s only the critically mentally ill who are crazy
Some people
have real jobs
Like nursing
& teaching
Yunno,
thinkin of someone other than yourself!
You’re not
just ‘the centre of the universe’
You’re ‘all
materiality!’
Narcissists:
Fuck you my dears!” xx
But yeah
today feels
Performative,
An effort.
Is the
former just a new way of saying the latter?
& words
don’t exist
--
The conscious
mind doesn’t exist
’less in
concentrated action
--
All is
nature
You know:
plants & shit
Not poetry
that sounds unaffected
--
I don’t
wanna understand ‘you’
I want us to
go beyond
The personal
& know
country
--
Telepathy
Published
& Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.
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