Erik Hansen's Blog, page 16
May 13, 2012
Viral
Skin burning in vertical precision
From the acid...
Viral
Skin burning in vertical precision
From the acid tongue
Lashings
Administered in casual ease
And tireless aplomb
I come
Stumbling through the sands
Of your desert
An endless dusty pallet
Of crumbling powder paint
It chokes and cakes
Teeth and throat
Horsehair bristles fragment
Fall away in the hot white breeze
Misplaced and forgotten tool
Rendered useless
An object of cold contempt
Idiot savant or blind servant
Pointer, pencil or brush
Or wand of straw
Cut in some verdant hay lot
Away from long ago,
Stirring the stagnant waters around our bed.
A relic from beneath the sticky cobwebs
And grime of the apocalypse
That even now reaches out
With dusky shadow fingers
To lay its feverish palm
Upon our heads.
A thousand Mums are bright but wilting
Arranged like children
In a school yard
Waiting for the bright yellow buses
To rumble in
Ignorant to the death touch
In the pestilence she has scattered
On the wind.
Erik Hansen May, 2012
Spring Burial
A lattice work
Of pale green
New leaves
Just beginning
Their annual opening
It hangs before
A tapestry of deepest
Blue sky
Dappled
With small
White clouds
Slowly sifting
Across its vast
Expanse
Above the rangelands
Ripe and rich
And you feel
That the sun
And all of this
Can lessen
The pains
The losses
The clutter and mess
Lying close to the
Core
An attic
Strewn with yesterdays
Leavings
And tomorrows
Remembrances
All the lessons
We should have learned
Long ago
Like the impermanence of it all
Everything temporarily
In its place
Destined to disappear
These fragile things
Linger
Like what comes after
A blow to the shin
Its memory
Crawls along
The nape of
Your neck
Prickling the fine
Hairs
Until you shiver
Alone in the dark
Calling out
In your mind
To no one
In particular
Hating them all enough
Until they love you
And when they turn you out
To trod upon
The dusty bones of the world
Found only
In those high places
Where the air is thin
And horned sheep
With full curls
Batter each other
In crushing echoes;
None will admit defeat
Because to do so
Would be to confirm
The reality of it all.
When we bury friends
In the sunlit spring
It takes away
A piece of us;
We feel less than
What we were
Yesterday,
Laughing at the ways
Of the world
And our brief place in it.
Erik Hansen April, 2012
May 11, 2012
May 6, 2012
officialbeastieboys:
as you can imagine, shit is just fkd up...
as you can imagine, shit is just fkd up right now. but i wanna say thank you to all our
friends and family (which are kinda one in the same) for all the love and support.
i’m glad to know that all the love that Yauch has put out into the world is coming right back at him.
thank you.
April 26, 2012
April 23, 2012
April 22, 2012
Amazon UK Link
For all of my Great British friends and old cricket mates at Oxford; shout out to the Marlborough House Pub!
