Prologue te de Blocks
11/02/1512. Bishop ODevaney kisses de hangmans noose, receives de hood, pale hands a-tremble as hes raisin dem te de grey Dublin sky, splintered by a red sun, momenterly.
De sun retreats. De rain washes away de blood uv de Bishops quartered body from de gallows. In view uv de sliced up saint a dyin man is healed, ‘n’ de crowd strips relics from de corpse, dissolves.
4 and half centuries later a north-side Dublin block uv flats resurrects iz name. ODevaney Gardens and I grew der with all de junkies, thieves, madmen ‘n’ madwomen, sinners ‘n’ singers, comedians ‘n’ clowns, wit de relics ‘n’ de blood ‘n’ de violence, ‘n’ de beautifully deranged, de stories ‘n’ de saints
From de window uv my flat in de blocks I see de mountains exhale pink clouds, risin te de sky. I think uv de Chinese poet Li Po drunk under de grapefruit moon chortlin. He is long dead now, thou de poems er still alive ‘n’ read.
Dese blocks wer Ive lived 35 years. Dese blocks wer Ive fought ‘n’ fucked. Been drugged, pissed. Meditated ‘n’ made music. Wrote line after line after line. Read book after book after book. Loved like Byron ‘n’ Blake ‘n’ Bloom.
Anto waitll I get ya, Im gonna stab ya in de neck.
A scream in de street below.
De fat kids drink bottles uv coke wit der names on dem ‘n’ spit chicken bones on de ground. Nike and Adidas signs er everywer, tracksuits uv indigo ‘n’ concrete grey, luminous yellow ‘n’ glowin Dutch orange runners on der feet
And dey know little uv poetry or Michelangelos statues, thou poems er all around dem ‘n’ deyve seen many pietas in de cruel violet/black nights, blood ‘n’ music, music like cats burnin te death or long alcohol pisses steamin ‘n’ gurglin inte de drain.
Music like cats burnin. Music like saints dyin. Music like motors rumblin. This is music. This notin uv de sounds, uv de comedy, uv hours passin. This typin uv words at de desk. This is de music I make. Listen.
Its 12:30 am ‘n’ I write more lines. Line after line. I make music here at this desk. While de dealers ‘n’ children ‘n’ cats er burnin outside in de blocks, burnin wit hate, burnin wit desire, burnin wit love, burnin wit de word. I am burnin wit de word.
The Blocks will be Published by New Binary Press.