The Abandoned Station






Larry's Wad

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Poetry, March 2014

Like mentioned on the other poetry pages, it's James Dickey-inspired poetry. Not sure why all these ended up on yet another separate page. It seemed necessary to break up the uploads of dazzling, brilliant prose. (heh, heh)

NOTE: None of these are repeated in the not-exactly-new-anymore digital poetry book, Brief Tales of Compromised Solutions


Take me down to where the stories are

I douse my fears in gasoline and light them up with your fire


Take me down to where the stories are

There's a sound coming from the edges of golden fields

Moving carefully to the centre slipping between the stalks


Lets run to the farm and drink from the still

Recycle the summer blue sky and pin it up to the corners

Turn the rafter stories true with hay in our hair


I swallowed all the simple things and left complicated messages in empty bar toilets


I let the ones and zeroes eat the more pointless parts of my soul

The stuff that's half off and near the back that I wasn't using anyway


To all the other broken armed people

For those that hit the skids over the simplest things

Pouring one out for those who couldn't cry at broken glass gunpoint


Holding out for the pitch black brick shutters

The kind that mother used to hide her neuroses behind


no numbers please we're missing fingers


I poked out a small hole in the darkness for a bit of love to come through

I downed it like a drunk and gave it a crazy name like Amber Crystal Diamond

I held her hand on the infinite laps as the faceless ran beside us


A foundation of leaks and misrepresentations

The follower in question is being read a series of medical emergency pamphlets

A baseless accusation is booking time at the tanning salon

The employee in question is fostering a sectarian inclination as the sun sets

A fractured bottle of hot scotch and cold sores

The glass in question reflecting all the answers as the crushed ice sweats


Some messes still look like messes no matter how far you pull back or out



In Between Dreams

Outside the boundaries of skills

Against the treacherous trickling rain

That listens in beneath itself

For whispers and thoughts

Holding your own between your legs

Making wishes on the backs of fattened up consequences

I'll admit I forgot your name

But at least I remembered how to cheat


In between dreams is the feeling of death


When flexing your muscle puts you in traction

For phoning it in and getting the number wrong

The gains look different under the red lights

Full of more compromised bloodlines than initially advertised


The night's just a mistake

A star that can't get its act together

Thinks it's standing its ground

Going around and around


everybody drowned

so now it's lost and found



Hold Me In Your Ambulance

Hold me in your ambulance

A hospital on wheels

Pump me full of finery and soothing promises


I got through the chainsaw meetings

Put down the dogs of war

Watched the grave sites sweat it out

Hunkered down with a dry martini and an olive bucket


I got out of the goodbye greetings

Found them rotten to the core

Saw the radiation use all its clout

Sauntered down the alley with all the warmth of 'fuck it'



Growing stubborn with time nipping at your heels

Sound the trumpets and break the seals

It's armageddon time on our bollywood set


I'm trying with vomit

Time is fatal

Chronic trumpet blasts

Fusing the antiviral strains with a child's hockey skate


Find shattered compromise in your very own home

No one's going to blame you for the details

They've already nailed you up for the old god mistakes


When Irish Ears are Burning

When Irish ears are burning

The clout of a Belfast goodbye

There's always been blood in the Liffey

And Dublin never has to ask why


It's a head bashing event

Full of that get fresh flow

The luck is lost and the dogs dive fast

Again in hollow hag snow




These Are the Fallow Days

These are the fallow days

With the morning sun cornstalk thin

The air half decided

Words so fresh they might slip back into the dying night


These are the fallow days

When the lunch comes without crumbs

The tear stained stomach

Wondering if it's the only organ making long shadow sacrifices


These are the fallow days

Where the afternoon never ends

The broken alarm waiting

Wafer-thin excuse keeps the grey engine horizon on its ever stone haunches





Left him wherever you found him

Like sawed in half on hot summer pavement

Like your dreams were tightly packed and vacuum sealed

Like it's finally about the crumpled sweaty money

Like you fixed the broken fingers ten minutes to late

Like the names are just letters spat out onto tissue paper

Like the village could be collapsed and folded up for the night

Like the snow was just a feint by the secret sun

Like head crushed in an alley under mysterious circumstances

Like the downtown train running over the uptown girl

Like cracking open an ice cold beer on a hot sweaty cheek

Like the loss of perspective down the barrel of a gun

Like a street level skull collection of the favourite perpetrators

Like triumph of the will done backwards and upside down



Ha Ha For Your Loss

You can't do this there are rules

There are good night's sleeps

There's people trying to get on with their lives

There's looking like a fool at the worst possible time

Stuck in a semi-classic rut


I waited out the rain but I won't wait out the snow

At least now they'll be footprints

If you can't keep your lower half from following me


We hope everybody's waiting out the storm

In bubble filled bath tubs or underneath piles of blankets on old worn in sofas

With old paint peeling mugs of hot chocolate and cereal bowls overflowing with carrot sticks

The windows can rattle carefully and the wind gusts can become a symphony

You are permitted to make trite but true statements to whoever's around that you're glad you're not outside on a night like this

Children may press their noses against the glass and fog it up with their excited breath wondering whether school will be cancelled tomorrow



Ha ha for your loss

The expected jester crows

Lost his cap but not his head

The faithful daughter broken down and reinvented

It's not like these games make the living breathing finals

The jibes and gambols are trimmed away like fat

Cutting you up with shiny black blades


She gleefully screams

You'll never believe what people forget


what's so wrong with the cities crashing into the sea?

why should you bother being faithful to me?

Their head's above water

Like lambs to the slaughter


Shopping For the Forgotten

Hold your donations high

Gently place your head on a pillow of generosity

Don't let the non-imaginary numbers get you down

Never say fuck it to each drop in the bucket

Every little bit counts when you're doing the counting


Remember who's eating the signs

Take their fingerprints for the first offence and their fingers for the second


What's not to like about the grey soot skies

Forget your lungs and let your eyes breathe it in

Black and white and in between

Think of the contrasts and not the dead fish trees fields families


In conversation with the innards of a bengal tire

A neoclassical take on what greases the wheel of morality

Eating out the hustle as it thrusts its legs into the air

You don't worry about the frame when you're in the picture

Barely acknowledging the time saving devices as it slips through your fingers


floating on a cloud full of lackadaisical distinctions

thumbing through secondhand thesauruses

and worrying about the pronunciations three days from now on the shores on a tiny Puerto Rican lagoon

where the soft wind gives off a hint of careless freedom

and dreams end with couple cumming at the exact same time

like getting stuck inside late night infomercials and being strapped to the gurneys to get waterboarded with the kool-aid

where even the devil will be shown mercy if he shows up hat in hand braying like a donkey who's finally come to its senses

and stops comparing mothers' eyes to wireless signals


satisfied with the exit signs

the paint streaking just right

you can feel emergency leap off the aluminum

and nestle into your soft and wet left armpit like a tick

cold black rain on fresh tin foliage

now you're talking and talking and talking

and I can't hear your unstressed syllables over the rattling drops


a mixture of selfish and selfless wants

you can't let this one go

they know exactly what they do

down the highest of the most high

leaving numbers and names at information kiosks for anyone curious and vulnerable

hanging underneath suspension bridges to cup a windy feel



Someone Was Inquiring About The Monsters

Someone was inquiring about the monsters

How they made their decision to rip off either the arms or legs first

The cost benefit analysis of rivulets of warm blood flowing from inelegant stumps


How's that for a sense of loss, sir?

Are you satisfied with this pile of scraps and ashes?

We can mail photographs to your enemies of your bank account statements

How about mahogany splints for your broken bones?

We can remember it for you retail

Difference in price can be chalked up to shrugs in the wind

The third of eleven messiahs tripped over their own coattails

Going head over feet down the nine storey



Is wooing me

With answers quick

In a world sick

I knew the six professionals

Who took turns in three confessionals

To list off the hair brained sins

With dickish shit filled grins

I broke this movement's back

I paid off this and that

Photos of politicians compromised

Money begetting secrets and lies


Fast and barbed and underwater

the kind of thing you pray dies gasping at your doorstep moments before curling its fingers to proudly knock

I knew the background name

Could have helped you with the grey seed analysis

The sort of words that cut deep with cold indifferent precision


A bonus reason to stop drinking this year

Maimed in the morning sun and not knowing the difference

Pushing the bitter herbs around your plate

Even though your shoulder chips aren't fooling anybody

As life becomes a painful game of darts

Making obscene gestures in front of chaotic schoolyards

Waking up and find that the only thing different is the pronunciation of doggrel


Try to fix x and y problems with the lottery numbers

Commencement is always the last place you look

Under that dog fucked sofa and always yanked out of context

Let the record skip and maybe even hiss a bit


A Thousand Quality Zeroes

A thousand quality zeroes

I made all the quality disruptions

the kind you take back home to mother

stuck in the last of fourteen dens with the heads hung over the endless fireplaces


ain't no one here but us crippling doubts and untrustworthy salutations


all this crunchy video game snorg

when saints destroy us with cautionary chords

resenting the tones and echoes that make penance twice the chore

like a rotten fruit that goes hard instead of soft

fucking patience in the ass

Waiting for wind on one of the endless unremarkable beaches

Cold sand and overcast and not a drop to drink


right at the back of that throat

that tinny buzzing sound

Like a fly in a hot wet cavern

going after lost angry lambs

stamping hooves on cold rock in midnight blackness

baring teeth at passing car headlights

pissing blue on the quiet dying grass

promising vengeance against the cruel wind


dead frozen banquets

on embarrassingly shaky tables

gathering fresh dust in decrepit wound houses

stuffed with half-life subsiding anger


get some rest before you dream

just lie back and think of nothing as the wise man inspects projects ejects


shorthanded time wranglers

going down slow to spread he gates of heaven

I've dreamed of these soft forest paths for years

counted down the days with the fingers I'm using now

to get to the spot before moving on to the bottom

I'm not fooling anyone least of all you but your moans don't mind


It's like a slot machine come to even more life

Making another cold shot at the old and crippling wires

The last few words are getting tired at this point

Making those kind of snap decisions

Trust is as strong as you can sell it

Hourglass disfigures


Under Lines 1

it's not like i enforce the broken rules

or make a point with the edge of a sword

i just want to hear some freeform accountability

and give specific co-ordinates for where the barely prohibited magic happens


when each bite of the sandwich tastes more and more like defeat

when keeping quiet for the sake of the room takes a piece of your soul

too far gone to colour in the lines

making a point with your dirty fingernails


an icy acceptance of the justly awards

given out in random years

doffing caps from forced corners to the other nominees


a million junkies shooting up a millions vials for a millions years and it's still nowhere close to the touch of your skin


a well reasoned crucifixion

carefully measured and argued

so that the lawyers don't get their undergarments in a bunch

stainless steel nails and two by sixes cut from California redwoods


three years of high quality disservice

the old sun that you swore you would never let warn your skin again is back on your doorstep hat in hand farting gases and setting the doormat aflame

Let's hear it for these suckerpunch apologies

That come when you shovel the snow out of your head and let it fall it where it may including onto antique candelabras, reptile filled baby strollers, thrice-smoking guns, a thousand ways to lose, the forgotten fortune cookie wrappers


an unholy dropkick to the future

it is a kind of sarcasm my love for your furniture can't hide

I can't look you in your tinted sunglasses as I say these things

My mind is running in Ethiopian circles

reassuring insecure dump trucks that their loads are certainly impressive

and so much more relaxed than the white rape van relay teams

making stops where the buses don't run due to fresh daisy budget cuts


by talking you've already lost permission

the shared files suddenly gathered up and burned for their own safety

watching the highlights from last night's riots on treadmill

letting the burnt tire smoke drift out of your devices and into your lungs

the gaps close in because the gaps are tired and just want sit down for a second and take it all with a glass of rum and ice in hand


Under Lines 2

nobody got rich jacking off in a corner

but at least it didn't cost them anything


I spent all her money on time

And traded that in for blood red diamonds

Letting the coins run down my arms

Staining the pavement like the drool of a honey drunk

I should be screaming

She left me alone with the dog and cat and mouse children


So I sense a change in the constituency of Northwestern Mathetts

A place along those lines that bother the horizon so

For their sad tardiness and slow spinning to and fro


Pulling out of the midwest machine

While the grease and blood drips out and through the steel grates

The decommissioned gears and copper wires grow like alien weeds


maxed out on fumes baby

I'm dead set against your wooden morning glories

let me spell it out in suitcases full of receipts

the proof is in the poisoned noncommittal flustered pudding-like gelatine dessert


I can your post odours

You sniff my undies

It's a match made south of heaven and north of hell


a pardon for the passing fads

they know not what they do

have mercy on these lonesome cads

they're only paid to screw


off until the hunter recalls the bulletheaded yes men

then we straggle back to bunkers and corporate retreats alike

the mystery comes with the big man's attire

are we faithful servants or misbehaving children

whose head's on the chopping block today

and are you willing to call their husband wife or dog and break the bad news

we did all we could save for saving their life

we'll dedicate the next earnings report in their honour


it's not like shame lasts forever

it's not like numbers take the night off

it's not like fools are really clever

it's not like





I'll never talk but I will let you fall

With fanfare left to gather dust in the basement

You'll get plenty of exercise under pictures of clear blue skies and the leashes will be made of silk

The doctor judge and banker are rubber stamping your de-applications

They smile thinly at your misspelled name and former addresses

Phone calls are made to short all your stocks and sink your last boat

Pre-moistened tissues are thrown at your feet as they bind your hands

I'm in the corner with my hand in my pants

Making sure the important gelatine things are where they should be

It's not personal it's business

is traced on the ceiling above in plum ink

A warning that the soul needs visitation papers to come down the rickety stairs


I'll cook schemes but I will burn you

With oil left in the pan to soak in the grey flesh

You'll get plenty of excuses under wide shots of the slaughterhouse floors and the gears will be stainless steel

The grunt foreman and janitor are counting your unhatched chickens

They grin shiteatingly at your empty stomach and sense of smell

Text messages are sent to cancel your reservations and club your sandwiches

Dirty napkins are left under your plate as they rip up your coat check ticket

I'm in the bathroom with my hand in my pants

Making sure the important fingers are washed and dried when they should be

It's not steak it's fresh coal

is the recommendation from your ex food taster

A complaint that the appetite needs to have something worthwhile to come out for


I'll bury corpses but I will write your eulogy

With words left out in the midwinter black cold

You'll get plenty of attention under hot mortuary lights and the white gloves will be post hygiene rubber

The mortician funeral director and gravedigger are rolling dice for your bronze teeth

They sigh as your embalming fluids leaks out of your lesser known holes

Hand signals are faxed to your family members asking to reschedule

Coal mine clothes are stripped off and put through enhanced interrogation

I'm in the viewing room with my hand in my pants

Making sure the respects and tears are heavily taxed when they could be

It's not breathing it's economics

is going to be scribbled on your gravestone

A shout out to all those that you betrayed will betray you in the extra special end 


It's always small groups of committed people that change the world, but not necessarily for the better