Poems by Colin Dardis
Colin Dardis is a poet, editor, sound artist and arts coordinator from Northern Ireland. His collections include ‘The Dogs of Humanity’ (Fly on the Wall Press, 2019), ‘the x of y’ (Eyewear, 2018), ‘Post-Truth Blues’ (Locofo Chaps, 2017) and ‘Dōji: A Blunder’ (Lapwing, 2013). His work has been published widely throughout Ireland, the UK and USA.
The Less in Adolescent
The music is on: the start of your paradise weekend,
turned up to hurricane levels to blow through dusty minds,
cobwebs of the working week.
You believe in a heaven behind drugs, a realism
away from nine to five cubicles, with death waiting
each morning on top of steel countertops.
Reincarnation comes in pill form for the kids:
the up-tempo distraction ate like rats on placebos,
yielding to crazed coma/soma states,
scooping up the heavy beats with both hands,
laughing at those broken flies who do not know
how to turn on their wings,
sucking at hearts with spider teeth and eyes
unknotting the tangles in their kidult webs
until the speakers blow.
No one admits to being casualties of the club scene,
breaking up the dance, disposable minds chaperoned
by what you cannot run from.
Gather those ugly druggies crucified on the dance floor
in the name of amusement. Heaven has become clouded,
weeping for all the infant fallen
so quick to mature
and yet so premature
Automatic Writing IV
of a semi-automatic
and Yeats standing over Maud Gonne
and all his other poetry whores
while scribing lines onto his cock
for the ladies to bury into the dirt grave
the dirt pauper grave of a poet
with fistfuls of clenched earth
thrown over his tragic member
dead to sexuality forever
they shot the discarded appendage dead
and Yeats whimsies over
the superfluous nature of his manhood
while throwing himself to the wolves’ claws
tearing his heart in three,
for Gonne, for Gregory, for George
for anyone but himself
for the sake of poetry
which much be continued in dictums
Greater Than Zero
The only perfect thing in this world
is a zero, for it holds no flaws
in which to compromise itself.
Every orbit, a zero,
moving the universe along,
mouths kissing a star.
Space, only a mock abyss,
every square mile holding a galleon
of beautiful imperfection.
© Colin Dardis