Night Radio by Jonathan Beale

‘What a drag it is
The shape I’m in
Well I go out somewhere
Then I come home again
I light a cigarette
‘Cause I can’t get no sleep
There’s nothing on the TV nothing on the radio
That means that much to
me’”                                        America Razorlight

Those life events: the stories reeling around the hours.
From acts in the ‘House’ to Afghanistan.
They who dance across the sullen spume of life’s tides elsewhere.
And pirouette across the currents hand-to-turn- to A.M.E.R.I.C.A.
The leviathan in the oceanic conscience of the world.

The night – there – here all over licking the grass and eyelids
DRAPED in this gothic mockery
Of childlike man lost in a shroud of  mankind
This darkened cloaked sandyman
Full of his darking trickery

Expresso’d voices twirling up and across the night
A single plateau – of voices where no one is alone  –  in a night café
For the lost and lonely those with time burning a hole in their night
The night as vast and new as America
The cross keys heard to gently rattle in the invisible air
The night deconstructed from the songs and lyrics of crows song
And from the nests of souls and as if Shelley and harp are outside
The men from all the cities north Finland to Russia Norway and every between
They from their spin on an axis seeing east to west from west to east
Avenues from where the deep voices are washed over by the night
Strange lyricism of fantastical place names

The Oily night slides across blood pulsing in blind lust
And conscienceless state – The night was made for loving
Guards dropped alluring alluring exploring exploring –

Weightlessness of the eye lids –
Dry as the latest crime thriller grows
Sheets cover the eye – minds breeze
Flicks them out to dull slow zone
Time to linger dully in shadows
Curled like a canine in the corner

The voices slip into Desert island discs
Flicking a light of charm
Someone’s river tide with silt and jewel
The nightmarish dogs outside bark and drool
In their silence – fighting against
Their light the place
A garden of a million unknown scents

Places on shipping
The immeasurable beasts saunter along
Canals and seas veins in some
Other mightily animal and vastly microscopic
The minds that steer them
From south east Iceland, fair Isle and Shannon
Places on the moon of earth
Until they reach Cromatry – Viking – Fitzroy

My English class as we read ‘Kes’
Kes blurts out Fisher German Bight –sir
A world of water engrained in land

Punctuated until 05.00 when having woken
Conscience au-fait with news
The words mental mongery
Thoughts given thoughts

Some comic discussing
Swedish liberalism along with English comedy
And some rerun of
Revised hourly. Hourly.  The same.

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