Doldrums

 

Written By

Poet and Photographer J H Martin @ A Coat for a Monkey

 

 

FORWARD – REWIND

 

My pinned eyes close

On their bloods and their greys

 

I know where I’m going

But not what I’ll see

 

Not through the oak door and not up the stairs

But through the shadow filled window

Of my single room

 

Expanding – constricting

My fake mountain freedom into three star hotels

Where – drunk on cheap whisky

I watch her go down

 

Down past the dreams of my short days retreating

Down past the names and down past the heath

And back to those knives which still stab and pierce

 

That landlord and ‘lady’

The fights and the screams

The needles and Ketamin

The vodka and gin

 

Twenty-four seven – that bang bang banging

On the beds walls and doors

 

Before the pool cue then snaps

Before the motorbike crash

Before the shower then breaks

Before the ‘champion punches’

I take and I walk

 

From that hell of a ‘house’

From that  job I can’t keep

And from any bit of sense in this misfiring head

 

Jumped on by tuk-tuks

Beaten by bars

Crushed like the pills

And drowning in lashings of random violence

 

I mean –

How many fights? How many holds?

How many blackouts? And how many chokes?

 

Sixty? Ninety? I really don’t know

I just blank them out with these blue milligrams

 

The flashes

The darkness

The blood and the sperm

 

This foreigner lost in his own foreign land

Used and abused by distracting thoughts

Which only exist to persist in their sick repetition

Until their anger screams no and their pain sedates time

 

After all – who the hell cares

What this place is called?

 

I am nothing but a bullet hole in its concrete blocks

A mere speck of dust rising up from the streets

 

A hot fevered sweat

Which drips and then drops

Down this dry tranquilised throat

And on down through the screen

Until these thoughts are drowned deep

By more silver strips

 

Again –  I already told you now – didn’t I?

I really don’t care if it’s your break or mine

 

You already know that I’m going to let you win

You already know that I’m not even going to try

To make one single shot to beg or fight back

 

Against that scaffold pole to my knees

Against that monkey wrench to my spine

Against that gun pressed to my head

 

For I have no form and no feelings at all

 

I am nothing but an empty window

Looking out and back through this hollow figure

From inside and outside this rewinding frame

 

No woman

No hotel

No mountain

No room

 

Only eyes behind eyes

Within walls without walls

 

Text © J H Martin

 

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J H’s Previous Contributions To Edge Of Humanity Magazine

Fleeting Company

Hollow Voyage

“Si, hasta la primavera”

A Breeze Of Sorrow Passing Over Emptiness

“…you know you can’t sleep there” | Passages Of A Homeless Person’s Life

A Story Of Grief

Life On The Irrawaddy’s Muddy Waters

Life On Waste Land

No Way To Die

Artist Exposé | Urban

Taking Different Paths

Reddish Days In Asia

A Quiet Exit

 

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Edge of Humanity Magazine is an independent nondiscriminatory platform that has no religious, political, financial, or social affiliations.

We are committed to publishing the human condition, the raw diverse global entanglement, with total impartiality.

 

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