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Poems by Patrick Seguin


'two sheets'

got home and he
kicked off the guilt trip
revved up and justified
scratched the gut, the crotch,
the lobes and chin
cold, it was so goddamn
cold and the cheque was in the mail
but a lot of good that does
when it should be in yr. hands

spaghetti mouth and onion eyes
she was 40-proof going on ancient
tired, so tired of looking
at her and the goddamn
tv, but there was no need
to get into it
the silence said it all
and happily ever after
was something your mother once fed you
he would say
if he weren't two sheets going on three



'due South'

it's really just a matter of ducking and
delivering that long north-soaked hum
disregard the rhythm, the rhyme
focus on looking for signs

survive harsh winters and tired politics
while waiting for someone to do something
smile and breed such a humility
that everyone else in the room feels ill
at ease

while singing a novel about
nothing more than the survival
we were all taught to respect
and stamp it cold with proper funding

and you call this all fine scenery
while I wrestle with your wild dream
in terrible technicolour




'Ottawa'

in your spotless and sterile chambers
I am a filth
in your licked and preened attitude
I am a tantrum
in your dull and vain industry
I am a celebration

I am a cure
I am a possibility
I am a reality

in your vague attempts at credibility
I am an importance
in your mewling prance of civic pride
I am a hooligan
in the rust and the dust of your ambitions
I am a skyscraper

I am a diamond
I am a crush
I am a life

and in your cold and silent voice of fire
I am a flame
eager to consume
more than you ever had
to offer



'palace: dive-and-false-needs bar'

the looks come creeping in over the line
with all the stealth and burning rudeness
of a very public slap
to be diminished with a smile
while waiting my turn in a crowd
way too deep at the bar
while scanning the faces in the crowd
for a quality screen
or, at least, a similar aesthetic
o man the attitude the style the fucking vibes
o man it's somehow a bit too much
to get into to laugh about
of course there is all that requisite
tits-and-ass hoop fanny and snatch
sweeties chickies tighties birds and honeys
buddy-boys homeboys blokes dudes and geezers
the mates the lads the competition
amid the So where are you from?
all of it programmed in obsolete language
and issued forth with so much confidence
that it stinks like something rotting
like obvious vested interest and exposed hidden agenda
lies lies lies
like stunned and angry autumn flies between the panes
pressed up to the situation, one day to go to get to
on the rocks that's all
so dog's bollocks
that I fall into it myself
and working my way through it in these
quieter moments these
frantic crucial moments
the laughtrack kicks in
and makes you want to dream
I've got that all held down now
so take another shot
roll it up smoke it and mark it with a P
get out just to make the experience last
and wonder
just where the fuck you've woken up



'pop star'

ran out of hometowns and hopes
had to find another way
to hide while fully exposed:
open eyes and closed mouth
cities within
photographed at controlled random
though thinking
at times they can hear you thinking
walking in the streets
up at the bar
in every subway car
on the dance floor
everywhere

in this close-up
I became your description
covered gestures, covered silences
felt through, thrown up on the wall
hung to dry over candlelight
worth it, was it, to be
worshipped up to my chin
deep but thinner
without any focus
you've been staring far too hard
step outside your door
and take a proper look at things



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Biographical sketch: male. Canadian. currently living in Prague,
Czech Republic. owner of one black cat. several interests, of which TV is
not one.

Patrick Seguin recommends:

Get it at amazon.com! Run With the Hunted : A Charles Bukowski Reader by Charles Bukowski
Reason: For the most part, it is timeless and it is true. I have
yet to find a book that has given me so much solace in times beneath the deepest blues.

Recommendations for writers:

Don't think - this is poetry, not advanced differentials.

 


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