there is a peasant grazing his horses by the banks of the river vardar
two hundred fifty denars bought me eggs for breakfast
disconsolate by the river vardar i
so i recrossed the vardar, having already
skopje was different. i became
have you ever been in a civilization that was
i fear
by nightfall i will shoulder my pack,
they munch placidly beneath the shadow of the macedonian television building,
the stone bridge is crumbling like bread crumbs upon stale water.
denars emblazoned with vibrant poppies, sorrowful virgins,
Egyptian goddesses, pink and blue birds of paradise drinking from the source of life,
ancient death masks & cyrillic script...
somehow knowing my wallet is packed with thousands of denars and sacred symbols
makes me feel rich
(though they probably equal about twenty bucks
and are worthless as soon as i cross any border)...
have been lying on this bench for hours in the afternoon latening sun
afraid to move; earlier i was
enchanted by the spires of the mosques across the river
so i ventured across the stone bridge, into the old city:
and felt the unfamiliar sensation of becoming prey
leered at by countless calculating eyes
hearing calls around corners from the narrow streets in the empty bazaar...
had my ass grabbed in the desolate shopping mall that morning,
pacing along the river hyped up and wondering
if there was any safe place in skopje...
people told me it was unsafe to walk in the inner city ghettoes of america,
but i always would, even at night no harm done, feeling slightly out of place but...
animal, animal instincts
sharpened, watching the men pissing
in the streets in the sunday sun, watching the decaying
cement buildings and the hondas and the horse-driven carts...
past its prime?
in america we think that the prime is always coming, that our nation is
a work in progress, but
what it will be like when the lights go out all over the world
the veneer of civilization is what keeps me from
being raped in the streets, and when the generators die
there will be nothing stopping the animals
from rising.
catch a ride to kosovo and be
reassured by the UN military forces
with their tanks and machine guns, keeping
that veneer from vanishing, keeping
me from becoming prey for at least another day longer...
disconsolate by the river liffey
This place is hard and crusty like old bread
kneaded by the silence of the desolate
and picked apart by pigeonrats.
Cinder blocks.
My socialist boy thinks it'll be a potent place for a revolution.
I think their anger is the stupified passion of alcohol,
and they'd rather sleep it off than let it catch.
The river slants obscenely
to my left
the traffic is muted
the panning all wrong.
My socks slip below my boots
pool around my ankles and
defeated i don't bother to yank them up,
knowing they will just slip down again.
Men striding in denim jackets and
old women with armfuls of lilies and
nobody knows any more than i do.
There is no summer in this weatherbeaten land.
I'll go alone into the summerplace,
my heart stretching like a rubber band
that will eventually snap
back to me.
dublin blues
Been sitting on the pavement of dirty Grafton Street
Walked up and down to find him but he's not buskin today
Irish girls pass around looking weatherbeat
Outside of the McDonald's a boy pulls out a tattered shoelace
Cold Dublin rain driving down into my bone
Been sitting on the pavement of dirty Grafton Street
Waiting some four hours for the boy I'm supposed to meet
Walked up and down to find him but he's not buskin today
Well it's getting cold outside and I'm not sure if I should stay
Irish girls pass around looking weatherbeat
Drunken boys a-shoutin, steaming for some meat
Outside of the McDonald's a boy pulls out a tattered shoelace
Seen the vial in his hand, seen the empty in his face
Cold Dublin rain driving deep into my bone
Think I'm gonna chase the road again alone