Ant Smith

On Writing

The Word of God

Got no messiahs

Om my mind,

No prophets predicting

The flow of time,

No father, Son, nor Holy Ghost

Got no sacrificial goat.

Words are made by

The noises we utter

From each to each

And each to the other

And others are made

By the touch of a lover

And lovers are made

In the sibilant whisper

Of words that twist and slip

And slither.

Got no miracles

Down my street

No forbidden apples

Fall at my feet

No Adam & Eve, nor Cain & Able

No parables, hymns, nor fables.

Words are stated visions, given

Life by air we breath

Be they first, or be they last,

they’re

Nothing but our dreams…

You can grab ‘em

You can pack ‘em

You can wrap ‘em

You can have ‘em

You can need ‘em

You can heed ‘em

You can take ‘em

You can leave ‘em

Got no kingdom come

To go to

No subway ticket

To Hell’s inferno,

No paradise to reward the strife

No Virgin-Mary-Bloody-Wife

And dreams do not become

Reality

On the wings of some great

Prayer,

For prayers are nought but

Visions stated in the stale and

Stagnant

Air, that is words.

You can grab ‘em

You can pack ‘em

You can wrap ‘em

You can have ‘em

You can need ‘em

You can heed ‘em

You can take ‘em

You can leave ‘em

You can lose ‘em

You can smooth ‘em

You can move ‘em

You can groove ‘em

You can pick ‘em

You can clip ‘em

You can miss ‘em

You can hiss ‘em

You can hug ‘em

You can love ‘em

You can suck ‘em

You can…

Got no herein-therafter

Got no earthly-holy father

No touch of god, nor sense of sin

Just this space, that I stand in,

And Here I stand, or here I fall,

And That is that for

that is all.

On Writing