Does It Matter?

Does it matter if I stop breathing and smiling inanely

With thoughts that can cut veins ever so insanely?

I don’t know how deep is the Grand Canyon

I have never been there, nor have I carried on

Any desire to meet Stanley Livingstone alone

In an African jungle worrying about his pension

What are we doing wading through streams

Of information that have no meaning but seems

To occupy even the smallest minds inside heads,

I’m steeped in memory but then that is my age

Where memory takes the place of reality, on my page

Anything goes and it usually does, and it returns

But that is hardly my fault I was only looking to relearn

A lesson no one had taught me so the laughing begins

My head on my arms whilst sleeping in class wins

My praise because the lessons are full of horse manure

And teachers need to be culled for the biggest cure

that humans have ever known, then we start again

swimming every ocean climbing every mountain.

There are dots all over my page where a universe sits

And I can see the people inside, they want a real fix

I smoked weed, spoke to the caterpillar on a mushroom

he was half way to coming back again, so very soon

but had missed every bus put out by Transport of London.

I left my heart in an English Gardener said Christian Barnard

I gave him the wrong blue pills and he swore revenge.

Did I drive a Triumph Toledo in the raging cold snow

I think about it but honestly I don’t really know,

In café bars, sleazy saloons I feel the cheap perfume

With smudged lipstick red faces and failing mascara

The ladies of the night settled for the usual routine

Even on days when they wanted never to be seen

Walking that street devoid of humanity and so mean

wrenched out their hearts, now it’s like a money machine.

Does it matter that Mickey Mouse may have been a girl,

Some say so, but then they have the tolerance of Goering,

His sandwiches were wet because his wife liked tomatoes,

His face looked like he’d eaten a ton of lemons though.

Then I met this guy standing at a bus stop and he told me

Buses I want are going in the opposite direction you see,

He knew he was standing at the wrong bus stop

and boasted about it, I thought he’d been watching the BBC

that fucks up the brain rearranges logic and vomits

garbage into my lap so that I stank of corrupted news,

I could not listen to the smiling faces nor their biased views,

I knew they suffered from withered cocks without juices

But you try interviewing one of them, you need a banana

Each time you try, for they ape reality without knowing.

Allen Ginsberg was going to move in next door so I was told

I said but he died years ago – I was trashed for being bold

Never a Howl was heard so I knew he hadn’t moved near,

It doesn’t matter, really?