No pain whatsoever

Photographs 1985-2009



The cheap songs

In the back kitchen, on a close grey summer morning, he drinks 

from a can of ESP Pils.

The garden's peat and privot musk drifts through the open door

and he nods at the wall, hearing the neighbour talk himself 

through his plans; accusing, crying, singing

before throwing dull possessions around the room.


By one o'clock the windows are open

and wind bellows the nets over tobacco, plates and papers.

Nodding, smoking, looking at the wall again

as the Stones start:


You can't always get what you want

You can't always get what you want

You can't always get what you want

but if you try sometimes you might just

get what you need.


Like a child searching for early words, he mouths in time,

lost and level in the drink

into the afternoon, into the night,

swaying with the cheap songs.


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