fast track to hell

that he came from a small town was something

he trained his mind to forget so completely

he had everyone convinced he was from the city

in which he chose to live and work bi-weekly

he made decisions which may have been wrong

looking back now he thinks even more so

but he put his money down and backed his instincts

only to watch the bills pile up and he on the go slow

debt spiraling out of control like a stunt pilot in a flap

he tried to control the bleeding, plug the gaps

where had his business plan gone so wrong?

someone dared tell him in his darkest days that

he had over-estimated the intelligence of the consumer

and Henry Ford's famous mantra came to mind

so he decided to treat his customers like idiots:

ignoring their suggestions, calling them blind,

as if their ideas didn't matter and only he knew

what they truly, ultimately wanted - which was,

truly, ultimately what he was prepared to sell them

so like a shadow he fell between the desire

and the economic imperative of providing goods

at reasonable prices while still trying to make a profit

it was like being Jesus and the Devil at the same time

except that he was just a salesman with nothing to sell

a bitter, small town nobody on the fast track to hell.

© shaun patrick green 2013

Next Stop Tokyo.

Age this instant

Hold it for me

Simply a click away

To scan if I had time

But there you go

I don’t have time

To know how you feel

Hear you crying

But don't have the words

Got to move on

Next stop Tokyo

And you are expendable

Like lotus leaves

Or spring snow

Which will melt

Your tears like diamonds

Clinking in the glass

I hear them as I walk

Down rain drenched streets

Away from you

Their brittle crackle

The bitter laughter

Of my departure

© shaun patrick green 2013 

Bad Things Come

He always knew this would happen

It was worse when he was drunk

Living in constant panic

Something bad always waiting

Hidden behind corners, in shadow

The unseen, damage, the unknowable

Waking to the stale piss smell

Of another morning thinking

"My god, what happened last night?"

The visceral gut-wrenching truth

Hitting him over coffee: He didn't know

That was when he got the fear

It started in the base of his spine

Slowly making him paraplegic

So that anyone might break in

And thrash him like a rag doll

But there were worse things out there

Yellow teeth filed to needle points

Finger nails shaped like talons

The fat blind ginger-haired boy

Body parts in his laundry bag

The badness crowded him in

Like a kids birthday party at McDonalds

And the clowns, Oh the clowns

Everywhere leering laughing clowns

like human totems to terror

That was why he quit the drink

Went cold turkey, shivering, hallucinating

Looked horror in its black shiny mouth

Now things were meant to be better

But the past had stuck to him

Like shit to a pure wool blanket

Good things come to those who wait

Bad things come to those who try to escape

© shaun patrick green 2013

Early Warning.

Did you see the sea coming at you?

No, she said, it came too fast

Like a mountain running at the moon

Nothing could stop it not stone

Not metal not wood not flesh

We had only seconds as the sea

Had millennia to devour us

Pushing in like a quarry of death

Water and mud crushing what was left.

So had time cheated these people?

Or had nature played a cruel trick

Or had we all been blind to the consequences

Of exponential growth unchecked

Us waiting on the beach of the undetected

Wet, shivering and unprotected

© shaun patrick green 2013

Terror Australis

You could see the fear in his face

As he stepped off the plane

The heat hit him like a sledgehammer

Then there was the hospital digs

"Spartan" not quite the right word

Yet he put on a brave face

Against this Territorial death wish

Wave upon wave of human trash

People determined to drink

Themselves to death or die trying

Never questioning why, just dying

Their insides turned to mush

Brain dissolved, will to live gone

Walking the land like ghosts

Drips half hanging out their arms

Drool hanging from half open mouths

As they collapse on shaded paths

Here would be a good place to lie down

He shops for bare essentials

Survives on four hours sleep

Awaiting the next wave

Not of arrivals by boat

But departures by alcohol

© shaun patrick green 2013

The Mangroves' Edge.

What does it mean to be shirtless

In a city of shirtless men?

He stands at the mangroves edge,

Fire failing behind him,

Wife asleep, cask empty.

Maybe go for a walk, see his country.

Night black but for a splash

Of spilt milk - whitey claiming the sky.

Lights along the road where

He used to feel his way in the dark.

This whole town now one big car park.

Bare feet on bitumen,

Sign says Botanic Gardens:

He needs to lie down,

Feel grass under his head.

So he sleeps under a big old tree,

Dreams of serpents fighting brolgas,

Their eggs split into three.

Wakes with the sun to see white men

Strolling fat, shirtless and free.

© shaun patrick green 2013

Nerdy Fantasy Writer

Seriously there he is

Looking like a body builder

But he's a Fantasy Writer

Rock star porn star

For geeky get nones

And there they are

In the audience

Asking geeky dumb questions:

Like how do you conceive your worlds?

"Great question. Now. this might sound

Strange to you but it all starts with an idea."

No fucking shit Einstein

Most ideas start that way

Like how to think for yourself

How not to be an internet zombie

Decide what is true for you

What matters what fits what hits

Dont take the first donkey's shit

As the world's most important hit

© shaun patrick green 2013