April 29, 2012 by Mathew Ferguson
Those angels with their words
Morning fresh, hastily dressed
A new day and they’re out the door
Last night fading away
A bar, a whisper, a kiss
A bite on the arm and wings
Halo slipping off
Angel out the door and away
To carry on their good work
Loving the lost, the lonely
In direct application
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April 29, 2012 by Mathew Ferguson
The deal, my love:
Some biting, sure
A few fights
Some string, tight
Perhaps some kneeling
Supplication and submission
Perhaps some shouting
The deal, fair no?
Tell me once more
Your demands
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April 29, 2012 by Mathew Ferguson
Yes my darling heart it’s true what I wrote
Not just some story, not just some poem
Not an idle twist of words from imagination
But crisp truth pulled together and presented
That story about the girl with the piercing?
That poem about tying the other one up?
That line about dark-eyed hordes?
Those words were true true true
Of course those other ones were true too
The servants made out of candy and my jelly horse
Travelling to the sun and back, charring six good men
The ghost of the robot who lurks downstairs
Before I met you I lived an extraordinary life
That scar on my hand isn’t from some simple mistake
Those made-up words I use aren’t made up at all
I learned a language in the afternow and fought the hazelburbs
I whilloped well and zambolled most eagerly
I only returned to dally with you a moment
Then it is back to my adventures!
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April 29, 2012 by Mathew Ferguson
what they said was hey,
how about this job
and i wasn’t paying attention
because what they really said was
hey, how about trading some of your youth
for things that don’t matter and have never mattered
and never will matter not never ever ever
and so i said yeah, sure, fuck it (that one to myself)
i’ll take the job and turn up every day
i’ll trade my youth for that pile of worthless things
i’ll even appear to be happy about it!
as I trade another day away
another night, another slice of time
i’m happy to give you all that’s mine
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April 29, 2012 by Mathew Ferguson
ALL that matters!
(as a cat)
is to purr and chase and get a little warm spot to sleep
ALL that matters!
(as a fish)
is swim in the group and think about architecture
ALL that matters!
(as a building)
is to stand perfectly still so they don’t know you’re alive
ALL that matters!
(as a planet)
is to tease a star but never kiss
ALL that matters!
(as an elf)
is to live in a gumdrop house and invest in the share market
ALL that matters!
(as a jew)
is to make jokes about doctors/lawyers and be a doctor/lawyer
ALL that matters!
(as a particle)
is to steal beer and fuck your best friend’s wife
ALL that matters!
is ALL that matters!
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December 2, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
the sister of the Sun visited today
sweeping through the house
a stream of petals swirling around her
droplets of oil falling from fingers
“the Sun has been most reluctant to journey” she said
adding that “when they were young they travelled everywhere together”
she was here to enlist my help
(as i’ve counselled many an astral body)
(and kissed many an astral body)
i gave the standard guarantees
lies flying with angel velocity
and she left in a blister of oily light
petals n all disappeared
immediately i got the Sun on the phone
and told him to watch out for former friends urging change
the Sun chuckled at my worry
did i not know the Sun would never leave the great love it had found?
i hung up the phone, reassured a little but worried more
the Sun talks of great love but so does everyone when they are in love
recent conversations flickered back to me
the Sun complaining about this and that, most worryingly
i briefly considered hiding the Sun’s keys to hinder any getaway
dreamed of a mad short-term kidnapping
plotted a Vegas wedding and a fake pregnancy if required
drew a big circle and little circle on paper surrounded by a broken heart
a flash of light struck me then
for a moment i thought the Sun had come to take back Tupperware
but it was a bright idea instead
the Tupperware gets to stay
immediately i rang Joe and told him of the Sun’s sister
described curves and eyes and delicate earlobes
it was the ankle bracelet that closed the deal
and he said he’d call her tonight
never have i hoped so much for a phone conversation to go well
for laughing and flirting and whispers and connection
then the Sun’s sister can stay, tied by golden string to Joe
and we can all go out,
bright light, petals, oil and shimmering love
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November 3, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
you must be careful what you think
while fucking
in that slippery slide some brain cells are making links
between what you smell and how you feel
and forevermore a certain perfume will get you hard
she’s fucking your brains out and you accidentally think about banking
and then pow! there go some new links
and suddenly you love banking and you’re a fucking banker
and you never intended to be a banker but here you are banking
years pass with all the fucking adding new ideas
and some stick real well and change who you get to fuck
and one day, one day you fuck an art girl you meet at some gallery show
she is pierced and has a tattoo and fucks those who buy her art
and loves absurd things and so she decided to fuck a banker
and there, on her mattress atop another mattress (an art bed)
under a painting, in a small room made golden by her homemade lightshade
she fucks you and you think about art and creativity and letting it go
and banking slides away and the old you comes back
for a moment the old you is there
nourished by cunt, fucked into life, for a while
and then carried out into the world, out into your car
and you see yourself, your suit, your haircut, your fucking banker house
your fucking banker wife, your fucking banker children
yourfuckingbankerfriends, yourfuckingbankerlife
FUCK
so what i’m saying is
it’s probably not a good idea to think about banking
if you’re fucking
unless you want to be a banker
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October 21, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
i was at work talking words
some pointless lunch conversation
and then i was at home
heart thudding
sweating
holding a metal garden spike in my hand
feet aching
i’d been running
my shirt was torn
blood on my knuckles
dirt under my fingertips
i thought
thank you!
psychotic break
i’ll take it!
i need something
to spice
up
the days
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October 21, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
she awoke and found her husband turned to ash
his form crumbled as she pulled back the sheet
but he was mostly perfect, fine lines and hair and patterned pyjamas
transcribed in shades of grey and white
the sheets were slightly crisp
signs of some intense heat
she hadn’t felt a thing
but then
for years in bed
with him
she hadn’t felt a thing
she looked at ash face
and saw it peaceful
mouth half-open
probably snoring when it happened
she was a little delighted
and that delight came
with a little sorrow
she was delighted he had surprised her
for the first time in years
she was sorry he had to combust
to do it
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August 10, 2011 by Mathew Ferguson
Oh you, my dead end
My favourite cul de sac
Turning tired, drinks and music
Hey, my queen size bed!
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