Les Wicks
Department of Age
My mysterious head peaked 30 years ago. A
controlled release ever since.
I don’t flood, I trickle.
More butter than gutter,
set loose in our personal
Hadron Collider everyone’s an urban
hippy/stockbroker isolate
dark matter - neatly contained, drained,
we change.
There’s this trick of longevity, lasting out
those lathers of life.
So admit a dualism, me between
a complicit sanddune & money.
Underneath I’m all 70’s, don’t bite as I farm
my tiny plot of gland.
Surrender is everywhere,
why we gave the cats our guns, inexplicable.
Modern Parenting 101
not like my dad
white rock’n’roll
& Celtic fuminants
we ached then, ache now (more)
as we haul our freedom like flogged burros.
We have dwelt outside god &
I don’t care what you do (but don’t hurt anything).
Some remember me smiling, a text
sent to myself. Still
a work in progress. The judges are optimistic.
Reminded of my failings
(constantly), I thereby concoct forgetfulness.
This day is a startle
when you walk in I forget
anything else.
We heat, engaged
in this life.
The Boy Goes Bang
You can be delicate with an electric guitar &
have manufacturing in your country.
There are saints for every sorrow,
my guilts will keep them flustered & raw.
Write the word ‘fun’ it comes out ‘run’ - don’t
dare to play with ‘dearth’ or swap order with ‘dog’.
The chair takes over, hallelujah.
Hands spurt bubbles your laugh
pays me out, this redundancy
is a state of grace.
Les Wicks
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Department of Age
My mysterious head peaked 30 years ago. A
controlled release ever since.
I don’t flood, I trickle.
More butter than gutter,
set loose in our personal
Hadron Collider everyone’s an urban
hippy/stockbroker isolate
dark matter - neatly contained, drained,
we change.
There’s this trick of longevity, lasting out
those lathers of life.
So admit a dualism, me between
a complicit sanddune & money.
Underneath I’m all 70’s, don’t bite as I farm
my tiny plot of gland.
Surrender is everywhere,
why we gave the cats our guns, inexplicable.
Modern Parenting 101
not like my dad
white rock’n’roll
& Celtic fuminants
we ached then, ache now (more)
as we haul our freedom like flogged burros.
We have dwelt outside god &
I don’t care what you do (but don’t hurt anything).
Some remember me smiling, a text
sent to myself. Still
a work in progress. The judges are optimistic.
Reminded of my failings
(constantly), I thereby concoct forgetfulness.
This day is a startle
when you walk in I forget
anything else.
We heat, engaged
in this life.
The Boy Goes Bang
You can be delicate with an electric guitar &
have manufacturing in your country.
There are saints for every sorrow,
my guilts will keep them flustered & raw.
Write the word ‘fun’ it comes out ‘run’ - don’t
dare to play with ‘dearth’ or swap order with ‘dog’.
The chair takes over, hallelujah.
Hands spurt bubbles your laugh
pays me out, this redundancy
is a state of grace.
Les Wicks